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Why the DOJ v PRH Antitrust Trial Doesn’t Change the Game for Authors, Regardless of Outcome

This article draws from my commentary and reporting that first appeared in The Hot Sheet.

In 2021, the US Department of Justice (DOJ) sued to block Penguin Random House’s acquisition of Simon & Schuster on antitrust grounds. Penguin Random House (PRH) is the biggest US publisher by a large margin and publishes about 15,000 titles per year. Acquiring another one of the Big Five publishers, Simon & Schuster, would create an even bigger giant in the US market.

In its first filing related to the case, the government granted authors something of a fairytale wish: it centered the role of authors in the publishing ecosystem. The complaint states, “Authors are the lifeblood of book publishing. Without authors, there would be no stories; no poetry; no biographies; no written discourse on history, arts, culture, society, or politics. … Penguin Random House’s proposed acquisition of Simon & Schuster would result in substantial harm to authors.”

But which authors? This is where the plot thickens. The DOJ’s case focuses on the “anticipated top selling books” that garner advances of $250,000 and up. For the purposes of this case, that included roughly 1,200 books, or about 2% of all books released by commercial publishers. The government focused on proving how advances for top-selling authors would decline should PRH be allowed to acquire Simon & Schuster. The DOJ wrote in its initial filing that “hundreds” of authors would have “fewer alternatives and less leverage.” Hundreds. Canadian publisher Ken Whyte offered his clear take on this with the headline Justice for the .001%, and that’s a good summary of how I see it, too.

During trial, the DOJ argued advances for anticipated bestsellers could decline by as much as 20 percent should the merger happen. So, some quick math: if Hillary Clinton was paid $14 million for her memoir, maybe she’d only get $11 million for her next one. Or, consider Amy Schumer, who received $9 million for an essay collection. She might get a couple million less. Would they still write their books anyway? Would they suffer if they received a lower advance? (Would anyone care?)

I admit I’m being glib. Some have rightly pointed out that a $250,000 advance isn’t all that much for a Big Five publisher—or for an author either. After it’s broken into four installments and an agent takes 15 percent, that’s little more than $50,000 per installment for the author, spread out over a few years, before taxes. During trial, big publishers admitted that the large majority of advances do not earn out, which isn’t necessarily considered a failure for the author, just part of publishing’s business model. That effectively results in a higher royalty rate, and I have to wonder if the entire industry would be better off with higher royalty rates in the contract (especially for ebooks, where rates are widely considered too low by agents), and advances that quickly earn out. I’ll come back to that later. Here’s the bigger and more important point that I think gets missed repeatedly in trial coverage.

Most author advances would not be affected by the merger.

When you read op-eds about this case, most assume or imply there will be trickle-down effects that reduce all authors’ earnings, not just those receiving $250k or more. Yet the government’s modeling and its key economic expert project only that harm will come to authors of anticipated top-selling books. In fact, testimony indicated that authors receiving lower advances could benefit. The defense argued that the government didn’t want to use a lower advance figure of $50,000 as a cutoff for their antitrust case because it would have undermined their argument for market harm: There are no negative effects at that advance level, at least based on the economic modeling presented at trial. It was shown that, as a result of the merger between Penguin and Random House in 2013, advances for anticipated top-selling books decreased by about $100,000, while for all other books, advances stayed flat or moved up a bit.

Furthermore: as a collective group, authors and publishers outside the Big Five have been gaining in market share for years.

At the trial, PRH’s CEO testified the company had lost market share over the last decade, so one way for PRH to regain market share is through mergers and acquisitions. NPD Bookscan, which tracks print sales, has reported that the largest share of book sales belongs to publishers outside of the top 15 in the US, and that effect is likely even more pronounced on the digital side. More titles are released each year than ever before, and there is no evidence that mergers have led to decreased diversity in publishing and less opportunity for authors. In fact, history demonstrates the opposite.

Professor Dan Sinykin, who has studied the conglomerization of publishing, recently offered the following insight:

If the merger does end up happening, it will be an incremental continuation of the same trajectory we’ve seen in publishing for decades. It’s a mistake to think that the ongoing conglomeration will lead directly to the destruction of literature. A lot of interesting things are generated in resistance to conglomeration. The nonprofit presses exist as a direct result of it. There’s a dialectical relationship to what kind of literature is made possible because of conglomeration; it’s not simply a one-sided foreclosing of the possibilities for literature. And even within the conglomerates, authors always bring creativity to structural limits.

In order to see what’s truly limiting the possibilities for what kind of literature is published, you actually have to look much more broadly, at the class structure in the US, like who gets to go to MFA programs, who actually gets opportunities, and the deep nepotism involved in mentor–mentee relationships that all happen before you even get to an agent submitting a query to a publishing house. The merger between PRH and S&S draws our attention to this much larger set of networked problems, but in and of itself, this case is a drop in a 50-year bucket.

When the acquisition was first announced in 2020 (before the DOJ filed suit), Peter Osnos of the independent publishing house PublicAffairs said, “It’s natural, understandable, predictable that people will want to look at the downside. And it turns out there may not be quite the downside they think. That’s my slightly contrarian view.” He thought it might be a good thing, in fact, for Simon & Schuster to be run by a corporate parent that’s primarily focused on book publishing (that’s Bertelsmann), rather than a media company focused on streaming video. And you don’t even have to be contrarian to believe that as the Big Five or Big Four become narrowly focused on producing hits, that leaves more room for small publishers and innovators.

Ultimately, the DOJ may be entirely wrong about what happens to author earnings as a result of the Simon & Schuster purchase. But let’s say advances did decline. Is it possible an acquisition could lead to other outcomes that offer a net positive, like better marketing and promotion? What if lowered advances made it possible for small presses to compete for great authors? Or what if the acquisition led publishers to pay better royalties?

I know, it’s crazy to think authors might have more leverage or options in a Big Four situation. But consider the pace of technological progress and changing socioeconomic conditions. Maybe some authors would boycott a Big Four. Maybe authors would look for different kinds of deals from smaller publishers who pay higher royalties and offer more control. Maybe there are new types of publishers and media companies (see: Webtoon, Radish, Wattpad) and a future creator economy that gives writers more power and freedom to step away from average or poor deals. There are all kinds of potential outcomes, and the consolidation of legacy publishers represents the late stage of a possibly declining business model. In the long history of the written word, authors have found ways to adapt to new conditions and continue in their work. The greatest are forever remembered. In comparison, publishers are ephemeral and largely forgotten.

In a 2011 article about the Penguin merger with Random House, Planet Money’s Adam Davidson wrote, “It’s difficult to imagine how, in the digital world, publishers could ever monopolize the sale of written material. Even if there were only one house left, it would compete with every blogger and self-published ebook author. Eventually, it’s likely that book publishing will embody both conflicting visions of digital-age commerce—lots of small businesses and a few massive ones that handle big-ticket items.”

Little is likely to change in commercial publishing no matter the outcome.

The big dogs remain the big dogs. Mega advances will still be paid, and it will remain challenging to make a living if you’re the average author (as it has been throughout history if you depend on book sales alone). This is about protecting the status quo, not making progress—although I would argue that, even if the deal moves ahead, you still get the status quo. Either way, Simon & Schuster gets sold to another of the Big Five or maybe a financial buyer.

Notably, in its first response to the news of the DOJ’s filing, the Authors Guild said, “Unless the Biden Administration and Congress address antitrust reform in relation to Amazon’s practices, preventing the PRH/S&S merger will do little to reduce harm to authors and the publishing industry as a whole and may injure mid-list authors short term.” And also: “We look forward to working with the Biden Administration on antitrust reform that gets to the root of the problems in the industry, whereas the proposed merger was just a symptom.” Indeed.

Michael Cader, writing in Publishers Lunch, has perhaps the best summary of where we are now (subscription required): “Antitrust trials are technical and complicated and have little to do with the nuances of the businesses involved. They are about market definition, market concentration, and market constraints, and about pricing power and econometric models. … The government brought a very focused case about the small set of authors and deals that win contracts of $250,000 or more every year (or about 1,200 projects a year, as we learned). It was the DOJ, not anyone in publishing, that had no regard—in an antitrust case—for the other tens of thousands of authors and books brought to market every year.”

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Transforming Coal Into Diamonds: Telling Painful True Stories Through Fiction

Today’s post is by author, coach and editor Jennifer Browdy (@jbrowdy).

Let’s say that you are writing a memoir, but you find you really can’t share some of the more interesting, memorable stories from your life.

For example, there’s that colorful first boyfriend of yours, the drug dealer. How can you write about that romance without describing how much of your time together was spent cleaning the seeds out of large quantities of marijuana? Or about his unfortunate habit of cheating on you?

It would make such a good story! But since your long-ago boyfriend is now a respected lawyer and small-town politician, it might be better not to smear him with your memories, true as they might be.

So you hold that memory back. But years later, long after you’ve published your memoir, the story of that old boyfriend is still buzzing around in your head like an annoying mosquito, never landing, but never leaving you in peace.

My advice? Go ahead and write the true story down, fair and square. But don’t stop there. Take the true story as your rough draft and keep going, giving yourself permission to tell the truth…in fiction.

You’ll find that a joyful flood of new energy will surge up when you open the sluice gate of fiction. No longer caged by your concerns and hesitations, your story will start to cavort, splashing about in its new, more spacious imaginative environment.

Now you can write with abandon about the drug-dealing boyfriend of the main character, a woman who is not, any longer, you.

So who is she? That’s your first order of business, to figure out who your main character is, now that she is not you—and who is telling the story, since in fiction, unlike memoir, the narrator may be different than the protagonist.

Start sketching, until you feel like you know your new main character and narrator intimately. Then go back to the key scenes from your memories of your youthful romance, and retell them, imagining what might have happened if you had known then what you know now.

Maybe in this version of the story, your main character, coming in and finding her boyfriend in bed with a neighbor, doesn’t stumble out of the house in tears, but instead confronts them, demanding that they leave immediately.

Permit yourself a smile as you write about how your main character dumps her ex-boyfriend’s clothes out on the lawn, taking the still-damp sheets off the bed and adding them to the pile.

What does she do next? Take yourself back into the heat of that moment and imagine what a young woman might do if she were able to stand up for herself and move on with her life with self-esteem, strength and determination.

Imagine it…and then make it so, on the page! As you transmute lived sorrow into imagined victory, you will feel your own spirit growing lighter, released from the weight of your heavy memories.

If you do a good job of thoroughly transforming memoir into fiction, only you and your ex-boyfriend—and maybe that pretty neighbor he seduced—will ever recognize the ghostly outlines of the true story that undergirds your novel.

Why shift from memoir to fiction? When we bottle up our painful memories, we run the risk of letting them fester; we let perpetrators off the hook; and we prevent ourselves from sharing the hard-won wisdom we’ve gained through experience.

In writing purposeful memoir, we ask, “How can my story be of benefit to others?” We ask the same question when we write purposeful fiction, but we give ourselves far more freedom—and the potential for far more healing and joy—in our possible responses.

Shifting purposefully from memoir to fiction, we not only do no harm to the still-living people who inhabit our memories, but we also ignite the process of transforming the coal of true but painful stories into diamonds that can shine a bright light for ourselves, and for others.

The Art and Purpose of Subtext

Photo by Ian Keefe on Unsplash

Today’s post is by author DiAnn Mills (@diannmills).

Subtext refers to characters who talk about one thing but really mean something else, and they both know it. And we’ve all done it, right? The subtext is the real conversation hidden by surface talk and is the core of the communication.

Through subtext, writers can provide information laced with sarcasm, heartbreak, or humor. And it always deepens the story with unpredictable outcomes and emotion. Characters engaged in the conversation know the hidden meaning; it’s an unspoken conversation below a verbal conversation and more valuable than the spoken word.

Why not have the characters state the obvious instead of flirting with the real topic? Isn’t it a waste of time for the writer and the reader? But communication that fulfills only one purpose is like serving a meal with no salt. The result might satisfy the tummy, but the experience is tasteless. Dialogue written without layers reduces the reader’s engagement in the story.

Characters might use subtext to show discretion:

They fear the wrong people understanding the real conversation could cost them.They haven’t the courage to directly express what is on their hearts or minds.The underlying message is only for a select few.The character has an ulterior motive.

The value of subtext for the writer:

Provides information to the reader without tellingAdds stress, tension, and conflict to the sceneReveals another layer of plot and/or pushes the plot forwardShows insight into the characterOffers mystery and intrigueForeshadows a future eventAllows the reader to play a role in determining the dialogue’s meaningShows the reader that the writer respects their intelligenceEncourages the reader to pay attention

Here’s a subtext example.

Lucy tugged on her favorite red dress for her anniversary dinner. Twenty pounds ago, she looked like a siren, but her current bulges churned her stomach. Giving birth to three kids didn’t help. Grabbing her evening clutch, she joined Jake in the living room.

“Does this make me look fat?” she said.

“Of course not. You are as beautiful as the day we took our vows.”

The subtext behind Lucy’s question: Do you still love me even though I’ve gained weight?

The subtext behind Jake’s response? I don’t care about your weight, and I love you more every day.

Subtext is especially effective when characters have opposing desires and yet are forced to communicate with each other. Better yet, when they’re put into a situation where they must work together to achieve a common goal that’s crucial to each, for different reasons.

Here’s an example of subtext when a real and open conversation could cost the characters more than they’re willing to pay.

The CEO called Melissa to the podium. She stopped at Tom’s chair in the boardroom and bent to his ear. “My proposal seals the deal with the company, and I know my raise and promotion is in the works,” she said. “Too bad, Tommy. I’ll be your boss.”

He bit back his urge to respond with sarcasm. She made him want to eat nails. “Good for you.”

Melissa continued to the head of the table, but the CEO stopped her. “Melissa, I have a quick announcement to make.”

She nodded and waited. Perfectly poised.

The CEO took the podium. “Melissa has developed an innovative program to streamline our inner office communications. She is ready to give the presentation, but I want to announce the other person who will be helping her drive this forward.” He paused. “Tom, come on up here. I’m thrilled you’ll be working right alongside Melissa. Your attention to detail is just what we need. This project will be your 9 to 5 job.”

Tom approached the CEO and shook his hand. “Thank you, sir. You won’t be disappointed.”

Melissa gave Tom an icy smile. “Congratulations. The idea of working alongside you for the next three months is a bonus. I look forward to learning from you.”

Tom’s head pounded at the thought of what lay ahead. “Thank you for all you’ve done for the project. I look forward to combining our goals to make the new program successful.”

The CEO raised his hand. “A round of applause for this new team. I expect we will see great achievements from Tom and Melissa.” He gestured at the two. “If you finish the project before the three-month period, I’ll have a handsome bonus for each of you.”

The above scenario paints a road of emotional turmoil for Tom and Melissa. They must work together for the good of the project and the company. Plus, a bonus for completing the job early sounds amazing. Yet how will they deal with their differences in an environment that expects and demands they remain civil to each other?

Francine Prose once said, “When we humans speak, we are not merely communicating information but attempting to make an impression and achieve a goal. And sometimes we are hoping to prevent the listener from noticing what we are NOT saying, which is often not merely distracting but, we fear, as audible as what we ARE saying. As a result, dialogue usually contains as much or even more subtext than it does text. More is going on under the surface than on it. One mark of badly written dialogue is that it is only doing one thing, at most, at once.”

More than a dialogue technique, subtext is amazing fun for the writer. See if you can level up your behind the scenes game.

3 Ways That Writerly Grit Leads to Publishing Success

Photo by Harrison Haines

Today’s post is by regular contributor Susan DeFreitas (@manzanitafire), an award-winning author, editor, and book coach. She offers an online course, Story Medicine, designed to help writers use their power as storytellers to support a more just and verdant world.

They say everyone has a book inside them, but few have the talent, skills, and wherewithal to actually write and publish that book.

Talent? Frankly, I think talent is pretty common, and that most people who really love books have the essential spark of what it takes to write one.

Skills? Those are harder to come by, and generally pretty expensive to come by, whether you’re paying in cash, time, or both.

But having recently completed my fourth novel manuscript—and coached countless writers through the same process—I can honestly say that this business of wherewithal, or grit, is by far the biggest factor in that equation.

Grit is often seen as the stubborn plowing ahead, the continuing to do, do, do despite life’s various indignities, rejections, and setbacks. And it certainly is that—but also, I think, something more.

It takes more grit to let go of some element of a book that’s not working than it does to keep pushing ahead with it. It takes more grit to get qualified feedback and put it to work in yet another revision than it does to keep pounding away at the manuscript by yourself.And it takes grit to hold firm to your vision for the project, even as you put that feedback to work, and continually seek ways to improve it.

Here, to my mind, are three critical ways that writers who’ll reach the finish line with their book, and go on to publish it, are distinguished by grit:

1. They seek qualified feedback.

In Playing Big: Practical Wisdom for Women Who Want to Speak Up, Create, and Lead, author Tara Mohr notes that it’s a stereotypically male thing to forge ahead with one’s big vision without seeking outside input on it, and a stereotypically female thing to seek feedback on one’s vision from any and everyone, whether or not their opinion actually matters.

As far as I can tell, writers of any gender can fall into either of these traps with their work-in-progress—and either one can keep those writers from ever actually publishing their book.

The first mode is just forging blindly ahead with your book without seeking anyone’s feedback on it. This is easier to do with writing than with virtually any other art form; you can work for years, even a decade or more, without a single other soul ever setting eyes on those pages of yours.

This might feel like a safe way to develop your vision without falling prey to the way that critical feedback can cause you to second guess yourself—but in doing so, you tend to set yourself up for a fall. Because all too often, when you finally shop that manuscript out, you discover that no one wants to buy it (or you discover this by self-publishing it).

The second mode I’ve spoken to here can be just as damaging, though—that being the mode where you seek feedback from people whose opinions really just don’t matter, like your spouse, your friends, your book-club buddies, etc.

These people might love your book, might be confused by it, might dislike this or that, might have ideas about how you can fix this or that. Regardless, their opinions and ideas don’t ultimately align with the reception your book is likely to receive when you attempt to publish it—and in revising to this hodgepodge of unqualified opinions, you run the risk of turning your book into a hodgepodge as well.

In order to actually move ahead with your project, and accurately survey your book’s chances in the marketplace, you have to seek feedback from people whose opinions are qualified. Meaning, people who understand your genre, who have the experience to recognize the issues in your manuscript, and who know how to address such issues in revision.

And showing your work with someone like that? Believe me, I know: it takes grit.

2. They address feedback while holding to the vision.

Say you’ve screwed up your courage and gotten beyond the first hurdle: Seeking qualified feedback. Which means you now have that feedback in hand—and chances are, it was not the fantasy we all secretly harbor: This is perfect! You should send directly to my agent—here’s their address.

No, in fact, the feedback you received pointed out some critical issues you need to address in revision. Which means that your next step requires grit of a different type.

Because just revising to feedback won’t get you over the finish line with your book. In order to do that, and to truly make your book work in revision, you have to also hold true to your original impetus for this project, what book coach Jennie Nash calls your “deep-level why.”

Your deep-level why is why this story matters to you, what you’re interested in about it, why you keep returning to it, what its inherent attraction is for you. And there’s nothing more critical to keep in mind as you decide how you’re going to implement the feedback you’ve received—because if you don’t maintain your connection to that original impetus or spark, you’ll lose what it is that makes your book special, and what will ultimately distinguish it in the marketplace.

Believing in yourself, and your vision for your book, even when you find out that it isn’t nearly as far along as you thought it was?

That definitely takes grit.

3. They continually seek small refinements and improvements.

The final role that grit plays in this process comes in at the end with a book project.

You’ve put untold hours into this manuscript, and part of you never wants to see it again. But even so, there are small refinements that can still be made—little improvements that will ultimately have an outsized effect on the finished product.

The closer any object gets to the speed of light, the harder it becomes to accelerate further. I think books are like that too: it can take forever to approach light speed (i.e., the finished version of your manuscript), but the small refinements you make at the end can make something that’s already good truly great.

At a certain point, of course, you just have to let manuscript go and move on. But the closer you can get to light speed—that impossible dream, the perfected version of your book—the more magical and dazzling it will ultimately be.

And what does it take to keep finding ways to improve that book, even after it feels like you’ve already given it your all? You’ve got it: grit.

Business and Creativity Go Hand in Hand: Q&A with Kern Carter

Author Kern Carter (@KernCarter) discusses his journey from being self-published to having two books slated for publication from Scholastic and Penguin/Random House, what he learned about marketing—and the market—as a self-published author, his views on the relationship between the art and the business of writing, and more.

Kern Carter was born in Trinidad and raised in Toronto, Canada. He is a full-time writer and founder of CRY Creative Group, whose mission is to build and inspire a community of emerging writers connected by the power of vulnerability and creativity. Kern is the author of Boys and Girls Screaming and the forthcoming novels Is There a Boy Like Me and And Then There Was Us. He has previously self-published two titles.

KRISTEN TSETSI: “I’ve always known that I wanted to be an author,” you write in the Medium post I’m Writing for My Life . Do you remember when being an author first struck you as a goal so real and powerful that you made a list of publishers you someday wanted to publish with?

KERN CARTER: Yes, I do. I was at my mother’s house in my early 20s. I had just started writing my first novel, Thoughts of a Fractured Soul, and was dreaming about what it would be like when I was a “real” author.

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Back then, I had this little yellow book where I would write down all of my future goals. But since (in my mind) being an author was my biggest goal, I wrote it down on a calendar the size of a bristol board and posted it at the foot of my bed. And I couldn’t just be any author, so I wrote the top five publishers that I wanted to write for, and Penguin/Random House was at the top of my list.

I’m proud to have gotten here because writing has been my companion since my earliest memories. The thought of being a novelist was always at the back of my mind, but it took Toni Morrison for me to launch it to the front. I reread Beloved and was absolutely blown away by how beautiful and painful and shocking the writing was. I was literally jealous of how good Morrison wrote and how her novel made me feel. I thought to myself: I want to make other people feel like this. That was the real trigger to starting my professional journey as a novelist.

What subject matter interested you when you first started writing creatively? Do you remember what your first book—which you said you wrote when you were eight—was about? And do you still have it?

Haha yes, the first book I ever wrote was called The Battle. It was a Lion King type of story with talking animals dealing with drama in the forest. My mom says she has it hidden away somewhere LOL.

My early writings always favoured fiction, but I also wrote a lot of poetry. When I started blogging, I had no direction. Anything that came to my mind, from sports to the welfare system in Canada, made its way into my writing.

“Publishers are set up to make money,” you said in an interview with Dr. Onye Nnorom on her “Race, Health, and Happiness” podcast . “In their mind, their biggest audience is white women. So if a book diverts away from that audience, they feel like, ‘Mm, I don’t know, that’s a risk for me to take.’ They say that to even put a Black person on the cover of a book would diminish how much the book would sell. That’s where we’re at in publishing.”

It was your awareness of this inevitable difficulty that helped guide your decision to self-publish your first two novels, but you also thought of those two books, you said, as a way to get more practice writing novels, as well as to establish a platform. Practice is one thing; publishing that practice with your name on it for public consumption is something else entirely and would scare almost anyone. What made you confident that your books were ready for whatever fate they would meet in the sometimes harsh world of readers, a world where you hoped to create this platform?

Any fear that I felt in presenting my first two books to the world was overcome by my dream of being an author. And to be completely honest, as much as I was fully aware that those books were practice, confidence was never an issue.

Growing up, my older brother was one of the top high school football players in all of North America. He got a full scholarship to Stanford University, then achieved his dream of playing in the NFL. I mention this because I came from a home where I saw dreams come true. Being witness to something like that didn’t just make me believe, it made me expect greatness from myself. So even back then, my goal was (and still is) to touch the world with my words. And when I say world, I mean that literally. I want my stories to be read from people all over the world, and I felt that way with my very first novel.

You’ve said you sold two thousand copies of your first, self-published, novel. How did you reach so many readers, and what advice would you give other self-publishers having difficulty marketing their work?

I reached most of those readers through the school board in Toronto. To be fully transparent, I didn’t really know what I was doing. I tried a lot of different marketing strategies and most of them didn’t work. For example, I had this idea that taking out ads in small-town newspapers would get me attention. I figured it would be less expensive and have a bigger payoff if a small group of readers knew me. I tried that for a while and monitored my book sales; nothing. I also tried doorhandle ads (I don’t know if that’s the formal name for them). Basically, I went door to door in different areas and left a postcard-sized advertisement of my first novel. That didn’t work, either.

But once I started reaching out to high school teachers and telling them about how I could use the themes of my novel to teach their students, it opened up an entire audience for me. I started with the teachers I knew, then got recommendations for more teachers. I also cold-emailed principals, as well. I found their contact info on LinkedIn and sent dozens of emails. Somewhere in my files is a list of all the high schools in Toronto.

To be honest, I don’t think 2,000 books is a lot, though. For me, it was a good first step, but my goal was to wake up and write books and not do anything else, so I was really hard on myself and didn’t really see selling that many books as success. My advice to self-published authors is to find or build community. If you focus on that, then selling books becomes a whole lot easier because you don’t need to convince anyone to buy it.

If you’re in the right community, they’ll see the value and want to support you. It’s funny, because for all of the querying I’ve done, I got my first agent through networking. I went to a book reading, and the host recognized me because I had been to a few of her events. She sparked up a conversation, and I told her that I’m an author who has sold a couple thousand books independently. For whatever reason, she opened her heart and her “black book” and introduced me to who would become my first agent. So yeah, networking does work!

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Another thing: please, please, please study the publishing industry. It’s not an accident that Boys and Girls Screaming became my first traditionally published novel. Before that happened, I dedicated my evenings to studying publishing. Which books were selling the most every week? Who was getting book deals? What kind of books were they writing? What trends did I discover?

Studying the industry made me aware of all of these things and gave me an understanding of what it would take to make my manuscript a commercial success. And I know some authors might be cringing at the word “commercial,” but I didn’t sacrifice an ounce of creativity when writing Boys and Girls Screaming. In fact, it’s probably my most creative novel and the story where I had to use my imagination the most.

You’d written that book quickly so you could get it to a conference and pitch it to agents, you said in an interview , so it makes sense that implementing those changes wouldn’t be too painful. However, imagine another novel you’ve had the time to carefully (and many times) revise to turn it into exactly what you wanted it to be. Can you imagine being so connected to the writing that certain requested changes would be unacceptable, or is your personal philosophy that the business and the creative simply go hand-in-hand, no matter what?

Through studying the publishing industry, I know for a fact that business and creativity go hand in hand. I just want to be clear here: for some writers, their goals aren’t as ambitious as mine. They don’t necessarily want to be bestsellers or even full-time authors. But my goal is to sell books, and since that’s my goal, it means that I have no choice but to consider the business side of things.

But that doesn’t limit my creativity in any way. The challenge is to create a body of work that can be both fulfilling to me as a writer and commercially viable to a publisher. As long as the changes make the story better and are aligned with the soul of the characters, I’m fine with it.

What mistake(s) did you make as a self-published author that others might learn from?

I made a lot of mistakes, but one stands out the most: I didn’t promote my first novel long enough and consistently enough.

After the first six months, I thought that I did enough work to gain an audience, but the truth is that six months is not enough time. The promotion of your novel, especially as an unknown, indie author, must be constant. You can do it in different forms, such as passively through blogging or a newsletter, but you must always be in promotion mode. That includes both before your novel is released and after. No lead time is too far out. I started promoting my second novel two years before I published it.

From the time you had the vision board with your list of publishers on it until the day you were told the Penguin/Random House imprint Tundra wanted your novel And Then There Was Us, you must have imagined what it would be like to get that call, or that email. How did you imagine the process unfolding (including how you imagined you would feel when and if it finally happened), and how has reality compared?

Yes, I imagined that feeling almost every day (no exaggeration). I knew I would get emotional, and I always imagined it being a phone call. And the reality of me getting the news happened almost exactly how I thought it would. The only difference being I was in public at a cafe, and so I kind of hid my face when the tears came.

To be honest, I also cried when I got my first publishing deal (with Cormorant) and my second deal (with Scholastic). I love my self-published books, but there is something incredibly powerful about imagining something for so long and then it actually happening.

The funny thing is that getting a deal and then signing a deal are two different things.

I have an agent, so when I first get the email or call saying XYZ publisher wants to purchase your manuscript, the actual details of what that means takes some negotiating. The royalties are fairly standard with all three of my publishers (between 8%-15% depending on several factors), but we had to figure out how much my advance would be, who owned the film rights and what percentage, and negotiate something called mechanical rights, which is too complex to get into details.

By the time I receive my signing bonus, which is payment for signing the contract [the first installment of the advance], it’s usually months after actually committing to the deal. And in the case of Scholastic and Tundra/PRH, my novel won’t be released until 2024, which is two years after signing the deal. That is also when I will receive the final payment of my advance, which is split into portions and handed out in accordance to milestones.

After you self-published Thoughts of a Fractured Soul, that you had a book in the world looked like success to other people, you said, but it wasn’t quite the success you wanted: “I was one block closer but the sky was still so far away.” Now that you have deals with Scholastic and Penguin, would you say you’ve touched the sky, or does the idea of what the sky is push farther out as goals are achieved?

I think signing with Penguin/Random House gets me closer to what I envision as success, just like signing my second book deal with Scholastic did. My goal is to be a full-time author and sell millions of books.

I know how that sounds, and I know a lot of authors have that goal. But for me, there is no alternative. I wake up every morning and think about what I need to do to be one of the top authors in the world. And just like a doctor or lawyer has a defined path to obtaining success in their careers, I apply that same rigor and discipline to writing. I write every single morning, I educate myself by studying the craft, and I gauge my progress.

Again, where I am now is not an accident. I planned to be here and plan to be a bestselling author. It’s not just a dream, it’s a mission.

You’re obviously already on track, but considering writing is a more subjective and finicky business than is being a doctor or lawyer, do you ever have moments of doubt?

Yes, for sure. I’ve had many moments where I doubted whether I would ever be published or build up enough of an audience. Doubts are normal. When I lost my first agent, that really shook me. I thought I was so close, then when we split, I honestly didn’t think I had any energy left to continue the chase. But for me (and maybe this is just me), quitting just wasn’t an option. I wasn’t just dreaming of being an author, I was preparing for it. So in my mind, it was never a matter of if, it was always just when.

Prayer and meditation really helped during these down times. I spent a lot of time in silence, my hands folded, sitting with my own thoughts.

Your focus in your novels is largely YA, and young adulthood is a time of high passions, high drama, and uncomfortable changes of all kinds that generate deep, powerful feelings. You also created the publication CRY Magazine on Medium, taglined “Creativity + Emotion,” whose goal is “to build a community of emerging creatives who are connected by the power of vulnerability and creativity. We emphasize the emotional aspects of the creative process.” What draws you to exploring and exposing all of this emotion?

I became a parent at 18 years old (my daughter is 20 now), so that time in my life was the most tumultuous. I have so many experiences from those teenage and young adult years that the emotions just come pouring out in the form of stories. It’s almost like I’m writing to my younger self. All of the struggles and doubts and fears I had are infused into my novels. And since there’s no way to actually go back in time and change any of my decisions, I hope young people read my stories and see themselves clearly.

Amazon • Bookshop

I mean, look at the titles of my books. Boys and Girls Screaming, Thoughts of a Fractured Soul, Beauty Scars, Is There a Boy Like Me, And Then There Was Us. These titles alone are a journey through my adolescence. It’s my reflections told through fictional tales.

And while my novels are a fictional expression of those emotions and experiences, CRY is a real-life reflection of the journey of being a parent and becoming a writer. It started out as a personal blog. I’d write about all the frustrations I was going through to achieve my goals. Then I thought that if I’m going through these things and feeling these emotions, maybe other people are, too. So I opened it up for other people to share their stories, and that’s how CRY Magazine was born.

In a novel writing class you took, you said in the “Race, Health, and Happiness” interview, some of your classmates didn’t understand how your novel’s character could be on government assistance and also have a car. They thought you should change it, or explain it in the story. You disagreed, you said, because the audience you were writing for would know how assistance worked and would know your character could both be on assistance and have a car.

I’ve seen a lot of authors asking on Twitter, “If I wrote X in my novel, would you understand what it means?” This suggests they think it’s important that readers immediately recognize all references and that they don’t trust their readers to either figure them out through context, look them up, or learn more about them in some other way, all of which I’d always taken for granted were part of the reader’s job.

When do you think it makes sense to explain to readers, and what is it not the writer’s job to explain?

Great question, and to be honest, there’s no clear answer. Part of your job as a writer is to use your instincts. You have to make decisions within your book that aren’t part of some template, and the only way to make those decisions is to use your gut. What I would say is to always focus on the characters. If it makes sense for the characters, then you’re probably in the right place.

One bit of feedback you said you received from a publisher was that you didn’t include enough trauma—understood to mean Black trauma—in the story. A recent NPR interview with Black romance novelists revealed that they’d received the same curious feedback: where’s the trauma? Why do you think predominantly white publishers, or at least publishers catering to a white audience, expect/want/need Black characters in fiction to experience what they would estimate to be an adequate amount of Black trauma for the story to be successful?

I think Black trauma sells. Look at rap music, look at the most popular Black-led movies. It’s something audiences have grown accustomed to seeing and Black creators have grown far too comfortable creating.

Your truth is your truth and I don’t want to tell anyone what stories to tell, but I would say that there are many sides to our experiences as a Black community. I met an Indigenous, Canadian author named Maria Campbell. She wrote this incredible memoir called Halfbreed that’s full of traumatic events. However, when meeting her, she said her hope was that future authors would write about the joyous moments of the Indigenous community’s experience.

I agree with that sentiment and would add that there are many ways to create tension in a novel without stereotypical trauma. For example, in my upcoming novel for Scholastic, Is There a Boy Like Me, the protagonist is dealing with the pressure from his family and his peers to live up to an expectation he never embraces. There are elements of that tension that can be amplified because of his race, such as the common stereotypes placed on Black men, but trying to fit in or live up to a standard set by your parents or peers is broad enough that you can take it in so many different directions, and the direction I chose for this story, specifically, was toxic masculinity.

My point is that you should tell whatever story you want, but think about your story as adding to the canon of literature. How are you elevating the art form or adding stories with so much value that they have no choice but to be read?

In the same conversation about your experiences with publishing, you say that even though your characters are Black, your stories aren’t about race, but, “even so, even with that kind of perspective, it’s still complicated because they’re looking at it as, ‘Who is going to enjoy this? Who is going to read this book?’ Ignoring the fact that there are millions of Black readers that would love this book, and ignoring the fact that there are millions of Asian readers over here that would love this book.”

One of the oft-mentioned benefits of fiction is its ability to transport readers into worlds they’d never enter on their own, to meet people or bear witness to experiences they wouldn’t otherwise have access to. At the same time, there’s a push for relatability in characters. “I want to read about people like me.” What are your feelings about what fiction is for, or where it has value?

You nailed it! Fiction is for entering into worlds that surprise or intrigue or frighten you. It allows you to get lost in those worlds and learn some deep truths about yourself or other communities you may not have found without reading.

I choose not to make race the central themes of my stories because those aren’t the stories that get me excited. There’s so much more I want to explore and will continue to explore that I find far more interesting. And that’s another benefit of fiction that is helpful to the writer. I get to express myself in creative ways that I could never do through conversation. For me, writing is a sacred practice. I’ve learned so much about myself by writing these stories, so I actually think there’s equal benefit for readers and authors.

How to Get Published in Modern Love, McSweeney’s or Anywhere Else You Want

Photo by Andrew Seaman on Unsplash

Today’s post is by Allison K Williams (@GuerillaMemoir). Join us on Wednesday, Sep. 14, for her online class Pitch, Publish and Get Paid.

Recently, a writer on Twitter bemoaned yet another rejection from a place they very much wanted to be published. A string of kind responses urged:

Just keep trying.
Publishing’s a numbers game.
Send out more submissions right away!

Kind, yes. Helpful? No.

They aren’t exactly platitudes—getting published in general is indeed a numbers game, requiring persistence and fortitude.

But getting published in a particular venue doesn’t happen by pulling up your socks for another try. Magazines, newspapers and websites are not interested in your perseverance. They are interested in your excellent, targeted writing that suits their audience and fits their voice. Whether you’re aiming for The New York Times, McSweeney’s, or Parents magazine, you must research and analyze what they already publish.

Sometimes you don’t even have to write the essay before selling it. Commercial essays, articles and 0p-eds often sell with a pitch—a short (short!) email addressing three simple questions: Why Now? Why Here? Why Me?

Why now?

What’s culturally relevant about your personal story? Often, that’s the difference between the past and the present.

Last New Year’s, on my fifth glass of champagne, I was still rationalizing that I wasn’t really an alcoholic.

My dad, an alcoholic, always called St. Patrick’s Day, “Amateur Night.” As March 17 approaches, I’m already buying bottles of sparkling cider and soft lemonade.

Cultural relevance also means figuring out who cares right now. Does your story tie into a recent political speech, incident on live TV, or bestselling book? When you’re on your soapbox, what are you responding to or in dialogue with?

Why here?

What makes this website, magazine or NPR station an ideal venue for your work? Researching their audience helps you make that case. Look at their ads—are they targeting consumers of McDonalds, Mercedes-Benz or Medic-Alert bracelets? Specific demographic information is often linked way down on the bottom of the magazine’s website. Look for “Media Kit” or “Advertise with us”—the venue compiles their own data so potential ad buyers know who exactly they’ll be reaching.

Why me?

Why are you the best person to write this piece? What in your personal experience makes you an “expert” in this topic, whether that’s surviving a bad drug trip or getting your kid to eat their peas?

Boiling down those three key points into 100-200 words also show you understand the magazine’s voice and tone isn’t easy—but it’s a skill that can be learned and practiced.

Literary media outlets usually consider only finished essays, but that requires specific targeting, too. For creative nonfiction, the most successful submissions very closely fit the tone and structure of what’s already published. It’s easier for editors to imagine publishing your work when they can feel how your essay fits their mission.

The New York Times Modern Love column is notable for the number of writers who have gotten memoir deals from their essays there. Modern Love has very clear guidelines. The essays are about “modern” love—some element in the story didn’t exist 20-50 years ago. They want submissions of 1500-1700 words. Most writers can follow those requirements.

But look deeper. Consult this list of Modern Love essays by topic and cross-reference chronologically. Has your topic been done in the last 3 years? Find another angle. Read all the previous essays in your category. Does your story seem too much like one already published? How is your angle new?

Do some literary analysis (which sounds terribly MFA-snobby, but it’s not hard). Notice that nearly all Modern Love essays start “in scene.” That is, we’re in the present, with the narrator, at a moment of action or crisis. Then the narrator loops back to the past, showing how they ended up in that moment. Then they move forward in time from the opening scene; what happened next? How did they come to realize the need for change? Modern Love essays end with another clear moment of action, realization or decision: based on everything I just showed you, here’s some beautiful wisdom.

Write your essay as creatively as you wish. But before you submit, revise it using the structure they usually publish. Yes, Modern Love is still incredibly competitive—but “keep trying” with essays you know are right for the venue and your odds are much better.

Another dream venue for many writers is McSweeney’s Internet Tendency. I’ve worked with writers on more than 20 pieces published by McSweeney’s, and they all have three things in common:

Specific point of view. A clear answer to “Who are you and why are you telling us this?”Tight writing. McSweeney’s pieces don’t have a wasted word. When aiming for any humor outlet, do one more pass after your “final” draft and remove every word that isn’t absolutely necessary. (Rewriting by hand helps!)A little bit mean. McSweeney’s specializes in sharp, clever satire that cuts like glass. If your piece is “nice” or “sweet,” it’s not for them. Plenty of other humor sites have a softer edge.

Am I suggesting you subvert your creativity to someone else’s mold?

Yes.

If you are a beautiful genius whose work defies categorization, who can’t be constrained by form, then you do you! Submit to literary magazines rather than commercial outlets or focus on publishing books. Or heck, start your own magazine where no two pieces are alike and the audience is different every issue.

But if you’d like to see your work in national publications—and get paid—it’s not enough to “keep trying” and hoping your work is what they want. Tailor your essay to smoothly fit their voice and mission. A couple of hours of analysis will not only improve your publication (and payment!) chances, you’ll also be a better writer—and that’s a win whether you’re published or not.

Note from Jane: If you enjoyed this post, join us on Wednesday, Sep. 14, for Pitch, Publish and Get Paid.

Persistence Pays the Weary Writer

Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen on Unsplash

Today’s post is by author Tom Bentley (@TomBentleyNow).

The pandemic turned me to crime. Well, memories of crime: during the early months of the pandemic, I backed off from other projects and wrote a memoir on my years of teenage shoplifting, my first business success. But those 53,000 words didn’t emerge in singing sentences that built powerful paragraphs that made compelling chapters.

They emerged, as words do, in sputters and spurts. Or they hid behind walls, not coming when called, no matter the plaintive plea.

And yet, a book surfaced. All because of the power of incremental writing, a kind of compound investment. I wrote every workday, five days a week, for a scheduled half-hour. Be in the chair, manuscript up, cursor blinking, even if on that day the word pipe is clogged. A half-hour’s writing might be only 300 words, 500 words, sometimes a mere 100 words. But a half-hour’s writing over 7 or 8 months: a book’s worth of words.

That’s the subtle little secret to traveling from a work’s first word to its last: walk, don’t run. I don’t recommend a pandemic to move you to a long composition, but some of its isolations were helpful, at least in half-hour retreats. The allegorical wisdom of the tortoise vs. the hare—wise indeed.

Get your mind right

But before that galloping opening sentence breaks its reins, you need to address that inner voice. Or perhaps suppress is the operating word. Many people think “I could never write a book. Books, they are zillions of words. I wouldn’t know where to start. Or end.”

But the “I can do it” mindset starts with the simpler sense of “Yep, sure, I can write 100 words.” Turning that “yep” into 5,000 yeps is working on the power of habit.

First, determine when’s your best writing time. I’m an early riser, fueled by caffeine, mediated by meditation, but time has told me that writing at the first rooster call isn’t for me. I have to shuffle into it, go through email, perhaps read some wretched news headlines that make the scourge of writing seem an agreeable alternative.

Over time, I found that between 9:30 a.m. and 11:00 a.m. seemed the most productive writing period for me. So my mandated half-hours were announced to me by my electronic calendar, which dispassionately but commandingly told me at 10, every day, “write memoir.” Of course, your own schedule might demand that your only free hour is 5:30 a.m., but don’t let the initial misery of that daunt you.

Perhaps you only manage two sessions in the week, maybe three. Acknowledge that as good, without accusation, and begin the schedule again. A great boost to establishing the habit all the more firmly is seeing that you indeed did some writing, even if from A to B. The whole alphabet is now open to you.

Distractions are not delightful

When your half-hour calls, your phone is not your friend. Don’t have it buzzing and blurping at hand’s reach. My office is a 1960s Airstream trailer, and the phone signal out there is iffy; I don’t bring the cussed thing out with me in the morning. In concert with that, don’t have notifications active on your computer, so its buzzes and blurps do not sting you as well.

I wrote the initial chapters of my memoir with TextEdit, the Mac’s built-in word processor. I didn’t want Microsoft Word’s flush of ribbons and menus and choices to distract me from black text on white background, here and again. I minimize all browser and email windows, so just the active file is on the screen. Those windows and mails will wait for you—they always have.

Writers do have a rich gift for saying to themselves, “What I just wrote—that’s crap. C’mon! What’s the use?” But those are meaningless sneezes, not indicative of actual illness. You are always going to have setbacks or frustrations in your writing work, and you can train your thinking to see that setbacks and frustrations, no matter how sharp their needle, are temporary. The page is the thing, not sideways thinking.

One distraction I do recommend: if you’re able, get out and about at some point in the day. I find it remarkably consistent (and consistently remarkable) that many writing problems are solved by fleeing the computer for a walk in a park, or by the ocean or lake or just in the neighborhood. When you return to the keyboard, sometimes the complete and sweet cupcake of a new sentence, paragraph or idea will fall frosted on your writing plate.

Make research a scaffold, not a crutch

Let me backtrack a bit and say that in writing a memoir, I didn’t just jump swimmingly into the sweet pond of half-hours. Because my memoir is set during my high school years, and I am one of the craggy ancients now, I had to assemble a team of like ancients so that our collective brain was at least at 75 candlepower. I am still pals with many people from my checkered past, and they helped me refine (“Tom, you’re nuts! That never happened!”) some of my stories.

Thus I had many notes and emails to parse and assemble. After I had some pretty full chapters in TextEdit, and some partials, and many, many notes, I put them into Scrivener, which has a lovely way of holding chapters, half-chapters, one-line notes, emails, URLs and other research info into an easy-to-use matrix. Better Scrivenering yet—it’s simple to move all materials around, insert new, and rejigger again.

This assemblage, motley as it might appear, has some of the cheering effect I suggested earlier, based on the perception that accumulated writing inspires more writing.

You see you are doing it, you do more.

Miss a day, no matter

This bears repeating: If you miss a day in your writing schedule, as they say in the country, don’t make no never mind. Just begin again the next, with no wrenching of garments or cries of pain. Sounds like it’s too simplistic to work, but the simple things often sound that way.

And of course, should your keyboard be aflame, feed its fire: write more than a half-hour, write as freely as your fingers feel the words. I had many 1,000-word+ days, and enjoyed their combustion. Conversely, I agree with Hemingway’s adage about stopping when you are going good, leaving something in the tank for the next day.

After I finished the memoir, I used the half-hour method to edit it as well, before I turned it over to some professional editors. (Even though I used to be one, don’t listen to that wheedling macaw in your head telling you to edit your own work.) And now I’m using the half-hour method to do at least one promotional thing a day, no matter how simple. I was never good at math, but it adds up.

Look, a book!

I’ve likely forgotten many of the half-hours of my life, unless I was in an extraordinary place, or with extraordinary people, or there was an event of consequence. But I can’t forget all the half-hours that produced the book, because I have the book itself, a lovely thing (glossing past its content of however bad of an adolescent I was).

Books are bridges. Nobody builds a bridge all at once—you build it in sections, some of which are flawed and need redoing, some of the materials for which might never be used. But bridges begin small, and with the building, can become big.

In the future, let’s not have a deadly pandemic as the basis for any “inspiration.” Here’s to your next glowing half-hour.

Want to Build Tension? Encourage the Reader to Ask Questions

Photo by Ron Lach

Today’s post is by Angela Ackerman (@WriterThesaurus), co-author of The Conflict Thesaurus, Volume 2: A Writer’s Guide to Obstacles, Adversaries, and Inner Struggles.

Have you ever been a bit hazy on the difference between conflict and tension? If so, you aren’t alone. It’s common to confuse the two because they’re often used together to deliver a one-two dramatic punch.

The difference between them is subtle, but important:

Conflict is a force that stands between your characters and what they want most.
Tension is the feeling of anticipation surrounding what will happen next.

Conflict is concrete—a roadblock, dilemma, danger, adversary, etc. that represents a real problem for the character. Tension is more under the surface, where less is known. There’s a problem bubbling, potential for disruption, or certain factors are coming together which point toward a specific outcome. But will this outcome be realized? Will the right things happen to create chaos? This “will it happen or won’t it” anticipation keeps readers on edge, which is why tension is so good for our story.

We can make good use of the reader’s need to know by building scenes that cater to it. For example, imagine a jerk character in our story who is dating two women, Alice and Shai. Neither is aware of the other, which is just how Logan wants to keep it. But in an epic goof, he asks them both to meet him for dinner at the same restaurant on the same night.

When the women arrive (at the same time, of course), that’s conflict. When they both cross the room, unaware they’re meeting the same man, that’s tension.

Tension draws readers in by causing them to mentally ask questions:

Will the women find out Logan’s dating them both?
Will he worm his way out of it somehow?
What will the women do?
Will there be a big blowout?

Strong tension follows a pattern of pull-and-release—meaning, you let the tension build until it reaches its peak then resolve it by answering some of those unspoken questions.

We’ll imagine that Logan sees the two women. Doom is approaching on stilettos, and he has no idea what to do. One thing is certain, though: when they reach his table, it’s over.

Now, if we wanted to continue building tension, we could add an event that delays the inevitable. Maybe Shai drops a scarf halfway to the table and Alice notices. She retrieves it and stops Shai to return it.

Tension builds as they trade a few words. Logan watches this horror unfold: Will one of them mention me? Point? Will they turn on me with death in their eyes?

Readers know Logan is dead meat…unless we cut him some slack by flipping his tension from negative anticipation to positive.

We can do that by introducing another event.

Perhaps after accepting the scarf, Shai glances toward the restroom. Logan watches, his mind ablaze, hoping against hope she’ll head there, not the table, so that when Alice reaches him, he can quickly make an excuse that he’s sick and they need to leave. Then he can text Shai while she’s in the restroom with a similar explanation for his absence.

Readers watch this new development and think, Will she go to the restroom? Is this his way out? 

Anticipation builds and again we achieve pull-and-release by answering internal questions.

As the authors, we decide Shai doesn’t hit the restroom, and so both women arrive at his table at the same time. Sorry, Logan, you jerk. No easy out for you.

After a moment of confusion, the blowout that Logan and the reader have anticipated happens. Shai and Alice start shouting at him, and every diner stops eating to watch the show. Embarrassed, he pleads for them to calm down, which only fires them up. Finally, Alice snatches a bowl of soup from a passing waiter’s tray and dumps it over Logan’s head. Tension is again released.

Shai asks Alice if she wants to get a drink, and the two leave. Logan, dripping chowder, signals for the bill, relieved that the restaurant is far from home and no one he knows will have witnessed this.

This last line provides us with a classic opportunity to use another tool in our tension belt: foreshadowing. What might that look like?

Perhaps as Logan picks clams off his face, he catches someone filming him with their phone, and he realizes they’ve likely caught the whole, messy scene on video. His guts tightens because he knows nothing good can come of this.

And the reader does too. More internal questions arise:

Will that video show up online?
Will someone see it and recognize him?

As you can see, tension affects both readers and characters. A new situation, threat, or obstacle appears, and provided something’s at stake, an unasked question hangs in the air: What comes next?

Tension can result from all kinds of conflict scenarios, such as when the character…

Is wrestling with competing goals, needs, or desires.Must make a decision without all the facts.Is unable to resolve a problem.Is waiting on an outcome.Has no good options.Doesn’t know how bad the fallout will be.Doesn’t know who will pay the price for their actions.Doesn’t know who to trust.Can’t predict how someone will react.

Notice the repeated theme here: something is unknown. Exploit that ignorance or uncertainty and let the tension build.

Note from Jane: If you enjoyed this post, be sure to check out The Conflict Thesaurus, Volume 2: A Writer’s Guide to Obstacles, Adversaries, and Inner Struggles by Angela Ackerman & Becca Puglisi.

Grow Your Writing Business by Stepping Away From Your Computer

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Today’s post is by SaaS copywriter Alexander Lewis (@alexander-j-lewis).

There are two desks in my office. The one closest to the door is L-shaped and contains a laptop and external monitor. Next to my screens are a microphone, a pair of Bose headphones, and a notebook to-do list. This desk is where I run the administrative side of my freelance writing business. I take calls, respond to emails, track income and expenses, and deliver work to clients.

Against the far wall is the second desk. This one is smaller than the first but vastly more important. On it, you’ll usually find a large open notebook, one or two pens, and a few dozen books. This is my device-free workspace. No computer. No phone. The only electricity flowing here is to an antique lamp that illuminates my work from the right-hand side. This is where each day, pen in hand, I write.

Computers and access to the web are vital to the success of any modern freelance writing business. But I also believe that spending too much time at a computer holds writers back from reaching better clients and producing their best work. Here are six arguments for why freelance writers should spend less time at their computers.

1. Write without distraction

I don’t think I need to build a case for why the internet is distracting. To stay focused at any task online requires uncommon willpower, special software, or a rare hit of motivation. I mean, just look at how many tabs you have open while reading this article. Working from a computer, most of us have several things constantly going on at once.

I’ve tried many hacks and software over the years to reduce my internet consumption while working. Here’s what I’ve concluded: Nothing works better to ward off distractions than simply shutting down your computer and opening the blank page of a notebook.

2. Slow your writing process

Faster production is a good goal for an assembly line. It’s a short-sighted one for writers. I have no doubt that you can type much faster than you can write by hand. That’s exactly why you should write by hand.

Slowing down your writing process gives you time to think. Great writing is difficult to produce because it requires depth and craft. When you write using pen and paper, you are more likely to pause and think through an idea before putting it on the page. This slowed process during the first draft, in my experience, greatly improves the quality of my final work.

Author Robert Caro learned this same lesson during a creative writing course at Princeton. Caro writes:

We had to write a short story every two weeks, and I was always doing mine at the very last minute; I seem to recall more than one all-nighter to get my assignment in on time. Yet Professor Blackmur was, as I recall, complimentary about my work, and I thought I was fooling him about the amount of preparation and effort I had put into it. At that final meeting, however, after first saying something generous about my writing, he added: ‘But you’re never going to achieve what you want, Mr. Caro, if you don’t stop thinking with your fingers…’ That was why I resolved to write my first drafts in longhand.

3. Consume higher-quality media

Great writers read.

Foundational to maturing as a writer is reading the works of great authors. Steven Pinker describes reading as a foundational part of mastering the craft of writing. He writes, “Good writers are avid readers. They have absorbed a vast inventory of words, idioms, constructions, tropes, and rhetorical tricks, and with them a sensitivity to how they mesh and how they clash. This is the elusive ‘ear’ of a skilled writer.”

My third argument for spending less time at your computer is to raise the quality of media you consume. Sure, there is outstanding writing to be discovered on the internet. The challenge is sifting through the abundance of mediocre or bad writing—especially found on social media—to uncover the hidden gems. Rather than wading through a noisy newsfeed, start your search for great writing away from the computer screen.

Author Haruki Murakami was once asked why he doesn’t use social media. He said, “Generally speaking, the quality of writing isn’t very good. Reading good writing and listening to good music are incredibly important things in life. So, to phrase it from the other way around, there’s nothing better than not listening to bad music and not reading bad writing.”

The fastest way to find high-caliber writing is to pick up a book, newspaper, or magazine. You at least know these works have gone through the revision and vetting process of an editor.

4. Write for editors

The average person spends 147 minutes per day on social media. For writers who use social media to promote their freelance businesses, I wouldn’t be surprised if that figure doubles. It’s one thing to scroll social media when you’re bored. It’s another thing to post, interact, track engagement, and DM editors like your career depended on it.

One way to spend less time scrolling and more time writing is to change where and how you promote your business. I’m talking about making social media secondary.

I believe that the best way to promote your writing business is to keep writing. But not all writing is equal. Where you publish matters. If you want to get more out of everything you publish, then I believe you should seek to write more often for editors than for social media.

Social media has an extremely low barrier to entry. There is no gatekeeper telling you that your story needs another revision, a better hook, or a stronger argument, let alone that you missed a typo.

One of the best ways to promote and simultaneously improve your writing is to pursue publication opportunities. Editors are a writer’s best ally. They strengthen your work and require much higher standards than you see on social media.

The obvious catch is that getting your work published can be difficult, even painful. Seeking publication means you’ll be forced to revise sections you love. You’ll face rejection for work you’re proud of. But those costs seem small when you consider the benefits of publishing in popular blogs and magazines:

Your work will be published on a website (or magazine) that has its own built-in audienceYou’ll grow your reputation as an established writer by appearing in respected media—which will make it easier to get published again in the futureYou’ll often receive backlinks to your website (which can improve SEO and drive traffic to your website)Everything you publish in a respected magazine or blog doubles as a hot writing sampleRegarding social media, you might receive two or three points of distribution: you, the publication, and your editor can each share the article to your respective networksSince some publications pay writers, you can effectively get paid to promote your writing business

So, instead of coming up with creative tweets, imagine if you spent those same 147 minutes per day writing for respected magazines. The upside seems too good to ignore.

5. Distinguish your writing voice

Every writer is influenced by the tools they use, the media they consume, and their creative process. By changing any one of these factors, I believe we change our creative output. Not necessarily for better or worse. Not necessarily to be more or less interesting. But these factors cause change.

The internet is convenient. You can research at the click of a button, write and edit quickly in Google Docs, and easily track down the trendiest article or idea of the day in a matter of clicks. It’s great! Except for one glaring problem: most other freelance writers are leaning on those exact same conveniences.

I believe that the writer who chooses pen and paper over Google Docs, books and phone calls for research instead of the top Google result, and a distraction-free work environment instead of a tab open on Twitter, will over time begin to produce work that stands apart.

In a world where everybody writes, craftsmanship, voice, and a differing opinion go a long way.

6. Seek experiences that inform your writing

It’s hard to drum up original stories and big ideas while staring at a blinking cursor. The best stories begin in real life, by meeting interesting people, visiting peculiar places, and putting yourself in situations where stories can unfold.

Charles Darwin was a highly successful writer. His most famous works—from The Voyage of the Beagle to On the Origin of Species—were inspired by first stepping away from a desk to see the real world. He spent years traveling, worked and performed thousands of experiments as a naturalist, and maintained an active network of influential scientists and thinkers. He was a great writer—but his writings are remembered because they contained substance. That substance was born from activity and work he performed beyond his writing desk.

Darwin didn’t have a computer. But the principle still applies. Getting away from your computer enables you to find your own ideas and stories worth telling. It allows you to read great books, spend time with friends (or strangers), explore your city and beyond, and ultimately discover content of substance.

Yes, time spent diligently improving your craft behind a computer screen is vital to improving as a writer. But so is telling a truly epic story. That’s why freelance writers should spend less time at their computers—and more time in the real world.

See you out there.

Don’t Fall for These 5 Writing Myths That Can Set Back Your Writing

Photo by Miguel Luis on Unsplash

Today’s post is by Joni B. Cole (@JoniBCole), author of Good Naked, a book for writers.

I’ve been leading writing workshops for over 20 years and am still gobsmacked by how stubbornly writers cling to certain myths that suck up a lot of emotional energy, and reinforce practices that undermine the creative process. If you buy into any of the myths below, let them go, and see how quickly you’ll write more, write better, and even be happier (because what writer isn’t happier when writing more and writing better).

1. The myth of the “real writer”

“I’m not a real writer.”

Why do so many aspiring authors feel as if there is some exclusive club to which we don’t belong? Of course, I get it. Writing lends itself to insecurity because our stories, real or imagined, matter to us. Otherwise, why would we take on this meaningful, albeit time-consuming and often payless effort. But who are we to lay claim to such a title, especially if—Let’s see, what are some of the reasons I’ve heard?

“I’m not a real writer because I’m not published.”
“…I’m 88 years old.”
“…My work isn’t literary.”
“…My spouse hates the way I write…”

Here is a reality check. You already are in the Club of Real Writers, assuming you are willing to put in the work of membership: writing; revising; accepting constructive criticism and praise; and pushing through rejection. And here is another reality check. Without the distraction of an identity crisis, you will commit more fully to doing what real writers do, which is believe you have something to say, and then figure out a way to communicate it on the page.

Exercise: Write down the reasons you’re not a real writer. Note: it is important that you put these reasons on paper. Why? Because seeing them in black and white will show you how ridiculous they are. When you are finished, write something, anything, as long as it is from the heart.

2. The myth of the suffering artist

So, you had a happy childhood. Get over it. I am kidding, of course. (Would that everyone grew up in a safe, loving environment!) But I am not kidding when I say that you don’t want to equate a lack of personal trauma to a lack of powerful story material. I can promise that when it comes to experiencing emotions—from love to loss and most every feeling in between—you know much more than you think you do. As Willa Cather once said, “Most of the basic material a writer works with is acquired before the age of fifteen.”

Bottom line: Despite what a lot of authors from Aristotle to Hemingway profess, suffering is not a prerequisite to being a creative writer. In fact, neuroscientists researching creativity have found that positive emotional states are actually better for concentration and productivity, and help steady the mind for a complexity of reasons. Of equal note, the release of dopamine, the chemical in your brain that makes you feel good, actually triggers creativity.

Exercise: “Only trouble is interesting.” That is an apt reminder when it comes to developing our characters and their stories. But we are not our characters. So if you are needlessly cultivating angst, drama, or misery in your writing life, channel those feeling onto the page.

3. The myth of the muse

It is counterproductive, not to mention delusional, that we talk about muses as if they are real. How is that different than believing in Santa Claus, and the possibility that this benevolent round man will squeeze down our chimney, leaving us presents, maybe a completed manuscript, a two-book contract, and an expert in social media already tweeting about our forthcoming release!

The downside of this kind of magical thinking, even if we only pay it lip service, is that it can negatively influence our behavior in very real ways. Yes, there are moments in the act of creation so inspired they may seem only attributable to divine intervention, but too much emphasis on creativity as a mystical experience means that we miss all sorts of opportunities to enhance our creative powers in more practical, earthly ways, like paying attention to the things around us that spark our curiosity; trusting in the creative process even when we feel uninspired; and revising, revising, revising (which is often where the real miracle of the creative process occurs).

Reality check: Researchers who have studied the creative process over decades have determined that creativity does not reside outside ourselves. Rather, it is an extension of what we already know. All behaviors and ideas are generative, building on the ones that came before. Your brain sees almost everything as inspiration!

Three-part writing exercise (that takes five minutes):

React to the first thing you notice. Describe it concretely. (one minute)Respond to the item. What does it bring to mind—a memory, a person, a story? (three minutes)Synthesize your thoughts. Quick! Write down a takeaway, epiphany, or new question evoked by your writing, (one minute)4. The myth of shitty first drafts

In her popular book for writers, Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott has a chapter entitled “Shitty First Drafts.” She advises writers to think of our early efforts in these terms, as a way to free ourselves from the pressure of high expectations.

I remember loving Anne Lamott’s book when I read it years ago. That said, I never liked the concept of shitty first drafts. In fact, I don’t believe there is such a thing. Sure, a first draft may be miles from polished prose or poetry, but so what! The purpose of a first draft is not to be perfect, but to open up the creative channels; to capture ideas; to discover. So why call it derogatory names. Think of it this way, you wouldn’t fault a baby for not being an adult so why disparage your manuscript in its nascent stage?

A more productive mindset is to honor every draft, and recognize its place in the creative process. Otherwise, we are likely to find ourselves disparaging our work right from the get-go, which can seriously slow us down and/or scrub a considerable amount of enjoyment from our writing lives.

Exercise: Go fetch a first draft. Ignore the impulse to focus on what is not working; what is not there. Linger your attention on the sentences that simmer with potential. Look for opportunities to amplify. Offer a “thank you” for this beginning of…something that is not a blank page.

5. The myth of brutal honesty

“Be brutally honest!” Every time a writer gives me or the members of our workshop that directive, I feel the need to squeeze a stress ball. I know these writers are sincere about improving their work. I know they are thinking such tough love will help them write forward. But I also know that brutal honesty is never a worthwhile objective when seeking or giving feedback, unless your definition of worthwhile is savagely violent.

Amazon / Bookshop

In reality, most writers are befuddled, set back, or even crushed when people (including themselves) trash their work. This isn’t because writers are weak and can’t handle constructive criticism. It’s because a call for brutal honesty basically slams the door on effective communication. It ignores the emotional quotient that goes into any interpersonal dynamic. It invites judgments and pronouncements. And it implies that positive feedback is untrustworthy.

Exercise: Pay attention to the distinction between brutal honesty and constructive feedback. The former reduces feedback to comments like: “This sucks.” “Start over.” “You can’t…” The latter focuses on specific weaknesses and, even more so, on the strengths of the manuscript, providing the writer with both insight and perspective on what to preserve and what to develop.

Note from Jane: If you enjoyed this post, be sure to check out the revised and expanded edition of Joni B. Cole’s book for writers, Good Naked.