Jane Friedman's Blog: Jane Friedman, page 59

We All Need to Be Defended Against Predatory Publishing Practices

Photo by Wai Siew on Unsplash

Note from Jane: Today’s guest post is by Brooke Warner, founder of She Writes Press, a hybrid publisher. She has written this post in response to a recent UK-based report into hybrid and paid publishing services.

I’ve written and spoken about hybrid publishing for years now, and it’s a nuanced and complicated issue. Some of you may know I’m not a huge fan of the term “hybrid publisher,” because sometimes it’s little more than a marketing ploy by paid publishing services, meant to make authors feel good about their choice of paying to publish. (More on that here.) But there are excellent hybrid publishers who deserve to be categorized differently than your average paid publishing service. She Writes Press is one of them.

I plan to write about the UK report for my paid newsletter, The Hot Sheet, and share that piece on social media (on May 11) so everyone can read it. I’ll also link to it here when it’s published.

Now, without further ado, here is Brooke.

The barriers to getting a book published have never been lower, and the consequence of this reality—that anyone can publish a book—is that predatory bad actors come out of the woodwork, and would-be authors must be on guard.

A prerequisite to becoming an author these days is self-education about the industry. The pay-to-publish space has been on a steep growth trajectory, evermore so in the past decade. There’s been a proliferation of self-publishing, but also of other non-traditional models—which, lacking any clear identifying label, have had to define themselves. Non-traditional by design, these author-subsidized publishing models have adopted labels that include hybrid (the one that’s been mostly widely embraced by the industry), partnership, subsidy, entrepreneurial, cooperative, and others.

I’m the publisher of two hybrid imprints, She Writes Press and SparkPress, and when I first launched She Writes Press in 2012, there was no right label for what we were doing. The only other presses I knew with this kind of “in-between” publishing model, where authors paid for various aspects of production, printing, and warehousing in exchange for higher royalties, were traditional publishers who cut hybrid deals with authors (often at the authors’ request because these models can in fact be in the authors’ best interest), and Greenleaf Book Group, who didn’t call itself hybrid at the time.

It was my early authors who pushed me to call what we were doing something—anything. They wanted a label because they wanted to distinguish themselves, and to explain to the outside world that their publisher was neither traditional publishing nor self-publishing. But being neither, we were in a gray zone. Many of my authors advocated for partnership, but in the end I settled on hybrid because that’s what it felt like to me—a hybrid between traditional and self-publishing, and I first wrote about this “third way” space in a Publishers Weekly Soapbox piece in March 2014.

Since 2014, hybrid publishing has exploded, but with the model’s elevated attention and reputation, the sharks started to swarm. One of the most complicated and disappointing results of naming this third-way publishing something concrete—hybrid—was how it started to be exploited and coopted. As She Writes Press and SparkPress began seeing true results, and therefore legitimacy, in traditional spaces (reviews, awards, sales), we also started seeing all kinds of entities, most of them providing services to authors to varying degrees of professionalism, who were calling themselves hybrid publishers. In the absence of any true definition for what this middle-ground was (in fact, I myself didn’t really know what it was and wrote a definition of hybrid in the first edition of my book, Green-Light Your Book, that I wouldn’t stand behind today), the floodgates opened, and all kinds of businesses were suddenly calling themselves “publishers” even when they were not true publishing companies (which involves vetting manuscripts or being selective about what you publish) and having a marketing, distribution, and sales strategy for all books.

One early response to this coopting came from the Independent Book Publishers Association (IBPA), who released its Hybrid Publisher Criteria in early 2018. It offers nine criteria for the industry and authors alike to use as a measurement of a hybrid publisher’s integrity. The problem is that human beings run companies, and human beings fudge the rules, and in the aftermath of making public those criteria, I talked to more than a few heads of “hybrid publishers” who said to me with all sincerity, Yes, we’re hybrid; we meet all but two of the criteria.

The failure to force well-intentioned would-be hybrids and bad actors alike to comply to true standards met a new point of resistance last week with the release of a report called Is It a Steal?: An Investigation into ‘Hybrid’/Paid-for Publishing Services, put out by The Society of Authors and The Writers Union. It was clearly initiated to draw attention to the degree to which authors are exploited by “pay-for” publishing services, but the underlying and wrong assumption the report makes is that all hybrid publishing is vanity publishing, and that no existing hybrids have standards they adhere to—which would include things like vetting, traditional distribution, and proven sales records. Nor does it acknowledge IBPA’s criteria, which has been around for more than five years. The report, instead, is an attack on the whole of hybrid publishing, without any nuance or acknowledgment from its authors that perhaps hybrid publishing needs also to be on the offensive because our label is being misused, and therefore hybrid publishing is being exploited too. It’s important to note that the Society of Authors and The Writers Union are UK-based, and as the US-based Authors Guild rightly notes in a statement it released in response to “Is It a Steal?”, “The hybrid publishing space is larger and more nuanced in the United States. There are some highly reputable hybrid publishers in the U.S.”

Had this report been framed differently, I would champion its efforts. I believe that its authors, at heart, want to protect unwitting would-be authors from being taken advantage of—which is important in the confusing landscape of offers, from every corner of the Internet, to publish writers’ works for fees that reach up into the tens of thousands. I myself got a phone call just last week from a woman who couldn’t wait to partner with me to make my book, Breaking Ground on Your Memoir, published in 2014, a bestseller. The very premise of this offer was absurd, both because of what the book is (not bestseller material) and because of how old the book is, but I wouldn’t necessarily know that if I weren’t a book publishing professional. The old truism, “If it’s too good to be true, it probably is,” unfortunately falls on deaf ears and starry eyes when it comes to capitalizing on authors’ hopes and dreams.

“Is It a Steal?” attempts to address a known problem: predatory publishing practices. There are many bad actors out there, and we do need strategies to address this problem. We need to protect and educate writers. However, “Is It a Steal?” wants to strongarm bad actors by insisting that they follow a set of “recommendations.” But the bad actors won’t give a lick about recommendations; they will not be moved by a report telling them to be transparent and to produce a viable marketing plan if that’s not what they do or intend to do.

The better—and only—way to address the problem of bad actors in the publishing space, especially those who are coopting the good name of “hybrid” for their own reputational and financial gains, is to educate would-be authors. We must equip authors with the tools they need to see past flattery and compliments, to support them to think clearly when someone tells them they’ll make them a bestseller, to empower them ask critical questions about contracts and rights and finances. 

I’m as frustrated as The Society of Authors and The Writers Union by bad actors, scammers, and unscrupulous people who overcharge and underdeliver, but attacking hybrid publishers is not the right way forward. Many of us in the hybrid space have been immersed in author advocacy for years. All of the legitimate hybrid publishers I know are hard-working stewards of the book and author champions who entered into the hybrid space because they saw a need that they could fill. In my case, I started She Writes Press specifically because the barriers to traditional publishing are so high (too high) for most authors, and because there are many authors who do not want to self-publish, and for whom distribution and sales, reviews, and a team that supports them through the publishing process is the right combination of elements they’re looking for in a publishing experience. My own efforts as a hybrid publisher have focused from Day One on leveling the playing field for authors, to give them a fighting chance against their traditionally published counterparts and to sell more books that the average self-published author can on their own without infrastructure and publisher support.

I empathize with writers and authors who are getting bombarded with oftentimes contradictory information. But my best advice to all authors is to trust your gut. Know that reputable publishers won’t make hard sales pitches. If you feel pressured or like someone is catering to your ego, walk away, or at least ask for time to think. If you’re not sure about something—anything—in a contract you might have received, send that contract to the Authors Guild to review. Again, never succumb to pressure. If the so-called publisher is pushing you, that’s a red flag. Ask for references. Interview authors who’ve published with these entities in the past. If you want to be really well-equipped, join the IBPA. Their savvy, attentive staff will always answer your questions and address your concerns. Writers and authors have a world of resources out there; it’s just a matter of figuring out who to listen to.

Is Journaling a Waste of Writing Time?

Photo by Los Muertos Crew from Pexels

Today’s post is by writer and creativity coach A M Carley (@amcarley).

Lately, I’ve noticed several working writers whom I respect—authors of multiple published books, a healthy reputation, generous with the community—quietly dissing journaling. You may know people like this as well. For me, after the initial defensiveness passed, I looked more closely at the question they raise: Is journaling a waste of time that would be better applied to writing? You know, actual writing, not diddling around in a notebook.

What follows is an attempt to argue both sides. And, as a longtime journaler, I don’t intend to treat them equally. Disclosure: Although I was never in Debate Club, I did go to law school.

Yes. Journaling is a waste of time.

There are only so many hours in the day. Life’s demands only intensify. Why would you intentionally devote even a fraction of one hour to a journal? It’s better to use the time you have for writing—and write. Work on the thing you’re focused on, not some stray thoughts.

You’re robbing yourself. Let’s say you allocate an hour a day to writing. (Of course, you’ll take more, whenever it’s available, but your firm commitment to yourself is one hour, every day. Butt in chair.) How many pages are you good for in an hour? Take that number and multiply by 365. That’s your pages per year. Take that annual number and throw out half of it. Or three quarters of it. There, in simple arithmetic, is the quantity of work you won’t do, if you devote 50 or 75 percent of your writing hour to journaling. Why would you want to do that to yourself?

No one will ever see your journal. You’re a writer. The way to make it as a writer is to publish. You do the math.

Think qi. If you take your journal seriously, investing yourself in explorations and ideas, you’re diverting your creative energies from your main project into a side project that’s destined to go nowhere.

No. It’s not a waste of time.

It’s a false choice. Journaling and creative writing are qualitatively different enterprises. There’s no zero-sum calculation involved. Putting time into journaling doesn’t need to deduct from the pages you produce on your main writing project. If it’s a priority, make the time.

Warm-ups help you write better. It’s like singing scales before you practice the aria. It’s like going to the gym so you are ready to climb the rockface. It’s like practicing your speech in front of a mirror before you deliver it to a thousand people.

Side note: Part of me is moved to speak up about that last paragraph. Journaling can be a lot more than just warming-up exercises for the main event. Although it’s a fair argument to include, I don’t believe in casual dismissal of journaling as mere preparation for something else.

Think again about qi. That whole qi argument (above) is insidious and superficial. Remember the part about qualitative differences between journaling and other writing? It’s not a diversion from “real” writing to maintain your journal as well. On the contrary, the two activities are complementary and can be mutually supportive.

An audience changes things. For better and for worse, the awareness that there will be an eventual reader has an effect on the way we write. A private journal welcomes unselfconscious writing. In your journal, you are free to fire the editor. Knowing there’s no audience changes how we approach the page.

There are no mistakes. The essence of journaling is the permission to form letters and words (and images and sounds) undirected by your conscious brain. Journaling offers tons more flexibility than does focused purposeful writing for an audience. Journaling welcomes surprises.

Your journal makes the problem-solvers and quiet inner voices feel welcome. Over time, your journal can become the place to address those questions that are not readily answered. Your journal is a creative laboratory where you can amaze yourself and then apply your discoveries elsewhere.

A journaling practice can sustain and inspire your writing projects. Your journal can be a member of your creative team. And a commitment to your journal can inform and improve your entire life. Waste of writing time? Not even a little bit.

Writers, Stop Using Social Media (Like That)

Today’s post is by Allison K Williams (@GuerillaMemoir). Join her on May 11 for the online class Writer Mind, Marketing Mind.

Agent after agent. Editor after editor. “You need more platform!”

They’re right.

“Build a following on social media!”

They’re wrong.

It’s comforting for all of us to believe that social media—so countable, so calculated!—is the answer. That we should spend a chunk of our writing time each day pursuing the little dopamine hits of comments and likes, watching the numbers mount up, working hard to send out love and feel loved back.

But social media is not platform.

Social media does not drive book sales. Social media has never driven book sales. When an influencer sells 10,000 books “on social media,” it is their tool, not their fuel.

Think of constructing a literal platform: a hammer exerts the force to pound a nail. But it didn’t drive itself to the worksite. The hammer is the culmination of architectural plans, engineered into blueprints, supply-chained into piles of lumber and churning bowls of concrete, in a location where people have agreed to show up and pound nails.

Twitter, Instagram or TikTok might deliver the final “buy this” message, but that message is a single nail in your author platform. To have anything to attach that message to, you must first know your mission, discover your best mix of publishing, events, ads and social media, and create an audience who agree to show up and buy books.

As a valuable tool, social media helps nurture relationships built over time through online and real-life interactions in multiple contexts. Making a Reel, hosting a webinar or speaking to a book club will each result in 1-10 people signing up for what you do, even though the Reel reaches over a thousand people and the book club has maybe 10.

But social media channels are not tools to move product. Instead, they train you to produce content that keeps eyeballs on the screen, and to change that content every time “the algorithm” changes or a new product—Reels, anyone?—is rolled out.

Social media channels are built on the unpaid labor of women and children. Meta’s profit model forces their best workers to regularly guess and adapt to new rules, while constantly creating new work, under threats to their livelihoods and their self-esteem. It’s a Hunger Games where the Gamekeepers randomly disable all the weapons you’re carrying and reissue new ones without instructions:

Surprise! No-one sees your Facebook posts unless you pay!
Surprise! No-one sees your Insta posts unless you make video!

And the “walled garden” means if you leave a social network, your audience stays with them—which is why email lists are so important.

Long before issuing the work order, “Buy this book!” you need a platform that supports your mission.

The two kinds of author platforms that sell books

1. The culmination of our life’s work, of who we are. This is the most useful kind of platform. I’ve spent 25 years learning to teach, to write, to edit, and to share that knowledge. Jenny Pentland spent her life being Roseanne Barr’s daughter. Suleika Jaouad spent her life speaking, writing and reporting, eventually about her own illness. Each of these lives has become a book. With a life’s-work platform, writing a book is a logical next step to convey your mission to the world. The book enhances the platform as much as the platform supports the book.

2. A platform deliberately created to support a book, which may or may not become our subsequent life’s work. This kind of platform is built with faster work over a shorter period of time, and it’s what most agents and editors mean when they say, “Build more platform.” Ideally, this platform also builds on what you already love to do and have spent your life caring about.

From these platforms, social media is an economical, low-stakes tool to speak directly to our audience and discover what they want to read. Listen for the gaps in their knowledge, their complaints, their fears, and identify how your book—your mission—fills those gaps and soothes those fears. Build your platform on solving those problems and reaching those readers, often one by one. To paraphrase Margaret Atwood, a conversation after a conversation after a conversation is power.

Social media also allows us to amplify messages we share elsewhere:

I wrote an essay, here’s a quote on Twitter, go read it.I’m speaking at the library, here’s the poster on Instagram, please come.My book is on sale, here’s a review quote on Facebook, this is the third of the seven times you’ll hear the title before deciding to buy.Here’s what you should do before using social mediaKnow your mission, why it matters, and who needs your work.Have at least three paths to connect with your audience that are not social media—events and appearances, writing and publishing essays, op-eds or blogs, interacting in real-life groups, etc.Create an email list and start writing to your audience regularly.Be able to write a press release or pitch that serves the magazine/podcast/newspaper’s needs—not just your own.Engage regularly with other writers as your colleagues, and copy the behavior of authors you want to be shelved with.

You don’t have to do all of it—but you do have to do some of it.

Writers, stop chasing social media numbers.

Stop working for Instagram.

Use the hammer when it’s the right tool—and stop caring about whether the hammer loves you back.    

Note from Jane: If you enjoyed this post, please join Allison on May 11 for the online class Writer Mind, Marketing Mind., where she’ll discuss how to build a platform from what you already care about and love to do.

How the Literary Journal Landscape Is and Isn’t Changing

Today’s guest post is a Q&A by Andrea A. Firth (@AndreaAFirth), a writer, editor, and teacher and cofounder of Diablo Writers’ Workshop.

Getting published in literary journals is hard—still. Editors routinely say that they often have to turn down good writing. The submission cycle takes months, and months. But some things have changed. No more snail mail submissions. All journals have an online presence and most publish in a digital format, some with a print edition too. Submitting is easier. Online portals facilitate simultaneous submitting and easy tracking.

But how else has the lit mag world evolved in recent years?

To get a better understanding of today’s literary journal environment, I spoke with Becky Tuch (@BeckyLTuch), who publishes the Lit Mag News Roundup, a free, biweekly newsletter with more than 3,000 subscribers that covers the literary journal world (news, trends, controversies) and includes calls, contests, jobs and more. Becky also regularly interviews journal editors in an open Zoom forum and posts the videos on her Substack and YouTube channel (over 40 interviews already, also free).

Becky isn’t new to reporting on the lit mag scene. She wrote and managed The Review Review (a website dedicated to reviews of literary journals, interviews with editors, and publishing advice) for over ten years before selling the site to a university in 2019.

ANDREA FIRTH: Less than two years after wrapping up The Review Review you launched the Lit Mag News Roundup and started interviewing journal editors again. You didn’t stay gone for long. Why?

BECKY TUCH: I love reading lit mags, talking about literature, and connecting with people. The Review Review newsletter was always so much fun. The feedback I got from readers was really positive. It’s always a happy coincidence when you love doing something and people love what you’re doing. I missed that. We were all under lockdown, my kid was home from school, I wasn’t seeing anyone, I didn’t have any social outlets. And I wanted that creative outlet and connection again. I tweeted something like Should I revive my lit mag newsletter? People were like, YES, do it! I thought, wow, people remember it.

What new trends do you see in lit mags today?

A lot of lit mags are publishing material that could only be transmitted online. Scoundrel Time is a good example. I just interviewed one of their editors. In addition to poetry, fiction and nonfiction, they publish music. They publish original songs that people record and send in. You can have an auditory lit mag experience.

Focus on visual accessibility is another recent development. I recently interviewed the editors of TAB Journal, a really cool magazine in California. They think a lot about visual access, which is something not all editors think about but that is specifically in their mission statement. You can listen to poetry. You don’t have to read it on the screen. As people think about inclusivity and access, I think some are also thinking about visual access, which is great.

Print lit mags also continue to play with presentation. This was popular during the 1970s and 80s with zine culture. But some magazines such as McSweeney’s, Ninth Letter and Belletrist have taken it to new levels. Sometime in 2020 I got the latest issue of Belletrist. I had no idea what it was. It arrived in a tube, like what you use to mail posters. The theme for that issue was “unfurled.” The contents of the issue literally had to be unfurled.

Are you hearing anything new and different today than when you left The Review Review?

There is kind of a mood out there. It’s hard, maybe harder than it used to be, to sustain a literary journal. At the end of all my interviews I always ask editors what keeps them enthusiastic about the work. One editor sighed and just said, “I’m so tired.”

Another editor recently opened up about being done with his magazine. He’s been doing this since the 1970s. His magazine was having all these problems due to the supply chain issues. The recent issue was backlogged for months. They couldn’t get the paper. He was just done.

It seems like lit mags have been closing or getting budgets cut left and right this past year. The Believer closed, Conjunctions nearly closed; Alaska Quarterly Review, Sycamore Review, Gettysburg Review, have all faced budget cuts.

Still, most editors I’ve talked to seem energized and enthusiastic. There were scores of new journals created during the pandemic. I tracked how many lit mags opened in 2020. I found over 75! I don’t know how many have lasted; sometimes these are created on a whim. But my sense is that during the pandemic, a lot of people were starting lit mags for the connection and to focus their mind and energy on something productive and meaningful.

It sounds like you don’t sugarcoat anything in your editor interviews.

I don’t want to sugarcoat anything. That’s a great interview if an editor says, “This job is hard on me.” That’s what people want to know. Who are you as a person? And how does that affect your editorial decisions? How does that shape what happens at your magazine?

That’s my goal with these interviews, to get at something deeper. As an editor, what is your worldview, what is your philosophy, what’s your temperament like, what are your values, who are you? We don’t always get to all of that. But I think this is so interesting and important for submitting writers to know. It’s also nice to provide this space for editors to talk about their pride and joy, these magazines, and what the work is really like for them. All this was always part of my mission, to make that personal connection, to bring writers and editors together in a genuine way.

Literary magazines today will have a statement that they’re very interested in getting submissions from BIPOC writers and marginalized groups. Some of them are going a step further and waiving submission fees. Do you think it’s making a difference?

Yeah, I do. All the issues surrounding this are very complicated. I think a lot needs to change on a societal level to get real changes. A concern I have is that sometimes it feels like window dressing, like, oh we’re just trying to balance things out so we look more fair, but we’re not actually changing things on a structural level.

I remember when the VIDA count came out in 2010. And everyone started paying attention to women and gender parity in publishing, which is great. But part of the conversation that didn’t appear to be happening was the issue of the wage gap. Are women getting paid in a way that enables them to go to graduate school? Are they getting health coverage that enables them to take time off work and focus on their writing? Fairness in publishing is interconnected with all these other things. Are you actually supporting policies that would make a difference in people’s lives? That would create the conditions for all people to pursue a creative life?

But I do think there is positive change happening.

Recently you interviewed the editor of Consequence Magazine, a journal focused on the realities of war and geopolitical violence. Is this a new journal?

It’s not new. I had corresponded with their founder, George Kovach, who has since passed away. We actually reviewed his journal a couple times. I’ve long been fascinated by this journal. That was just pure coincidence that I arranged this interview and then there was this geopolitical stuff happening. It was a sad coincidence.

What excites me about their magazine is the possibility to hear from so many types of people. All literary magazines are interested in diversity now, which is great. But especially with war-themed literary magazines you’re going to hear from people who don’t have MFAs, who’ve served in the military, who’ve lived all over the world, so that, to me, is really interesting. I’ve been wanting to talk to them for a long time.

Editor pet peeves?

The main one, always, is when the writing is not the right fit. Writers need to know what the journal publishes. When a writer doesn’t follow the guidelines, when they submit work that is too long or too short for the magazine, or work that shows the writer has not done the barest amount of research into the sort of work the magazine publishes, it’s just annoying and a waste of everyone’s time.

Another thing that comes up sometimes is writers submitting to magazines too much. Marcela Sulak, the Editor of Ilanot Review, wrote a great piece about this for Lit Mag News Roundup. Of course, it’s important for writers to get their work out the door, to be persistent and submit simultaneously and submit widely. But when a writer repeatedly withdraws work from one magazine because it’s been accepted somewhere else, it can be a hassle for editors. One time is fine. But three or four times over several months is too much. It can make an editor feel that the writer is not invested in their magazine and also does not respect their time.

Oh, and there are always the complaints about writers who respond in nasty ways to rejection letters. It’s amazing when you talk to editors and learn some of the stuff that goes on. I understand—it’s never fun to get a rejection. But editors don’t like sending them either. Lashing out at editors is just bad for everyone.

What is your recommendation for writers? How many journals do you send out to?

It takes time to submit. And money. I say, maybe start with seven or so. It’s not exact. The most important thing that I always tell people is make sure they’re all your first choice. So if any come back and say yes, you will be really excited to accept that. Wherever you’re submitting at once, make sure you’re equally excited about them.

You write fiction and nonfiction. What advice do you have for writers trying to handle the long process of writing and rejection?

Keep going. Be obsessed.

What it comes down to, and I’m not sure people talk about this enough in creative writing programs: If you are passionate and obsessed then you will get it. You will find your way. I don’t believe only in rigid discipline, writing 1,500 words a day or whatever. Sometimes I definitely use this routine. And that absolutely works for some. But ultimately, if you are obsessed with writing, stopping and giving up are just not options.

I don’t know how to tell someone to be obsessed. Maybe it’s really a matter of saying, Let yourself be obsessed. Give yourself permission.

When you’re obsessed with something, when you’re passionate, you just really don’t worry about what an editor thinks. Your driving force is too powerful to be concerned with that. Give yourself permission to become fanatic about your subject matter and what you’re trying to communicate.

The people who are great, the people who we worship in our culture, they do what they do because they have to do it. Let yourself become one of those people. Unabashedly obsessed with your work. Then it doesn’t matter what this or that editor thinks. Who cares? You’re completely wrapped up with what you’re doing.

Why Frankenstein Still Sells 40,000 Copies a Year

“Frankenstein Parking, Universal City, CA” by Grufnik is marked with CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

Today’s post is by author Catherine Baab-Muguira (@CatBaabMuguira).

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein remains an undisputed classic. It’s required reading in classrooms across the world, while artists, writers and filmmakers constantly reinterpret its man-makes-monster premise. The longer you look, in fact, the more extraordinary its success becomes.

First published in 1818, Frankenstein was released in a modest edition of just 500 copies. Some 200 years later, in 2021, a first edition sold at auction for $1.2 million, setting a new record for a book by a female author. Thomas Edison, Mel Brooks and Tim Burton all adapted Frankenstein for the screen, with the total number of film adaptations now well into triple digits. Fresh off the success of Pan’s Labyrinth, Guillermo Del Toro began pre-production on his own adaptation in the 2010s—his dream project, he said—only to have it killed by the studio. A huge Frankenstein mask still hangs in the entrance to his L.A. home.

There are Frankenstein-inspired dolls for sale at Build-a-Bear. Frankenstein Legos. There’s even a breakfast cereal you can buy seasonally at Target—General Mills’ Frankenberry. Any 19th century novel inspiring this many interpretations is a wonder. But maybe most enviable are the book’s “backlist” sales. As the Guardian reports, Frankenstein still moves an eye-watering 40,000 copies a year, which means it outsells 99% of all “frontlist” (or newly released) titles.

Authors dream of such long-term success. But how to pull it off? Is Frankenstein a freak, or can it show us how to make art that lasts?

“Write a classic” isn’t a strategy, obviously. It’s a goal, plus a highly contingent outcome. No one could recreate the conditions that gave life to Frankenstein—its famous origin story is itself a series of unlikely contingencies. In 1815, Indonesia’s Mount Tambor volcano exploded in the largest, most powerful eruption ever recorded. With so much ash still in the atmosphere, the summer nights of 1816 were gloomier than anyone could remember. It became known as the “year without a summer.”

Mary Shelley, then 18 years old, happened to be staying in a Swiss villa with her lover Percy Bysshe Shelley, next door to the poet Lord Byron and other literary friends. To entertain themselves in the evenings, they told ghost stories, and in the grand tradition of writers everywhere, tried to outdo each other. Later, Mary Shelley would claim a certain monstrous face and form came to her in a waking dream. Two years and three drafts later, Frankenstein was published, though Shelley, fearing scandal, didn’t put her name on it. Instead, the book was published anonymously, which meant that—notwithstanding differences in copyright law then and now—its premise could essentially be pirated in stage plays and elsewhere without attribution.

The novel caught on quickly in part for such perverse reasons. To explain its staying power, however, we have to look further, seeing how Shelley’s novel demonstrates timeless truths about “perennial sellers,” to use Ryan Holiday’s phrase. As he argues in Perennial Seller, “the more important and perennial a problem” that a book concerns, the better the chances it will survive the test of time.

Frankenstein practically bum-rushes the criteria. Its characters’ problems are timeless. Victor Frankenstein, a starry-eyed scientist, is blinded by ambition, leading him to an act of creation he comes to bitterly regret. Meanwhile the monster, like all of us, finds himself here, alive and breathing, without ever having been consulted. Stranded and alone, he craves love. Denied it, he plots revenge. Shelley’s shifting POV, which veers from creator to so-called monster, poses daunting questions: Don’t we all deserve love? If bad treatment creates bad actors, what is our moral responsibility to every person and creature around us?

Helping to make these questions extra sticky is how readers of all ages may identify with an abandoned, rejected child. Impressions from our early childhood stay with us, consciously or unconsciously. Since our parents’ love is key to our survival, all of us know what it is to need it—and far too many know what it means to get something rather less than what they’d hoped. When stories touch us on such universal fears and on longings so fundamental they virtually define our species, then they can survive beyond their own epoch, fascinating no less than an Edison or del Toro.

This is why a great premise tends to trump great prose. That’s not a bolt of lightning, insight-wise, though it’s true. Frankenstein proves “astonishingly adaptable,” says the literary biographer Richard Holmes. Adam Gopnik, in the New Yorker, made the same claim about H.G. Wells’ work, citing Wells’ “premises so simple and strong that they can sustain any amount of retelling.” Edgar Allan Poe’s stories, for the same reason, get retold and reimagined in every generation.

So the reasons for Frankenstein’s success include its quick initial spread and a story touching on our sheer worst fears. And now here’s where things get really interesting.

Per a phenomenon known as the Lindy Effect, books that survive tend to keep surviving, as Holiday points out. Nassim Taleb has advanced the same idea, arguing that the longer a work of art survives, the longer it will survive. Which means that Frankenstein’s survival has contributed to—and still contributes to—its survival.

Tautological? Sure. Absolutely. That’s the whole point. Art that lasts tends to keep lasting.

Less directly, the Lindy Effect also explains why, while aspiring writers simply want to get published, established writers often aim to backlist well. Writing one hit is hard enough. Now imagine trying to do it three or four times over. Almost no one can. Pros know the better, more practical plan is to try to create work that survives, that can sell year after year after year.

It’s reasonable to ask if this doesn’t set the bar too high. If your aim is simply to finish writing your book, period, ensuring its long-term survival may seem an impossibly steep climb. At the same time, what Frankenstein makes clear is how you may just want to go for broke—all the more so when you consider the differences between Shelley’s time and our own.

Getting a traditional publishing deal was hard enough in her day. In ours, it’s even harder. There are more spots, but far more people competing for those spots. Likewise, while the pool of readers is much vaster, with literacy rates so much higher, there’s far more competition for readers’ attention. Mary Shelley had sexism to fear, not Netflix; jury’s out on which one’s worse. Under such conditions, it makes sense to attempt your own masterpiece—to aim to create work that might endure rather than something so topical it won’t. If the odds are desperate, not to say impossible, why not try to write books that are, per the Internet parlance, “very lindy”?

In other words, hitch your wagon to a star. Or maybe a misunderstood monster. Whatever works.

Tell Your Story with 3 Tarot Cards

Today’s post is by author and book coach Margaret McNellis (@magickalbard).

I’ve always been obsessed with story, whether it was my five-year-old self asking my parents to read Winnie Pooh and the Blustery Day until they had it memorized (sorry not sorry!) or pursuing a bachelor’s degree in art history to study the tales told through the visual arts.

But it wasn’t until I began devoting more time to story that I realized all the ways tarot can help us tell stories.

Using tarot for writing is nothing new. There are many books on the subject, and with spirituality becoming more front and center via social media, magazines, books, TV series, and more, is it surprising that using tarot for story might undergo a bit of a revival?

As a tarot practitioner, one of the most common questions I’m asked isn’t, “What does my future hold?” but how people can learn to use their own decks. We’re all seeking answers, and the cards are ready to provide—if not to life, then to the tales we strive to tell.

I created a 9-card spread that weaves together character and story arc and allows me to use the imagery and symbolism in the tarot to understand story in another way, a visual way.

The art historian in me loves this.

While the 9-card spread is much too large to share in an article, you can work with a condensed version that focuses on helping deliver clarity on the most important foundational elements of storytelling: character and story arcs, or the internal and external journeys.

So grab your cards, and get ready to use them to spotlight the heart of your tale.

How do you interpret the cards?

If you’re new to working with the tarot, it can feel intimidating. At 78 cards, the tarot deck can seem both full of possibility and confusion. Plus a card’s meaning can shift based on what cards it sits next to, whether it’s reversed (some practitioners even read them sideways), or where it lands in a spread. After early attempts, you might be ready to pack your deck away in the farthest reaches of your cobweb-iest closet.

Please don’t. You can work with the cards even if you haven’t memorized them, and even if you’ve lost the little booklet that comes with most decks.

All you really need to do is follow your intuition. You can’t really get cards “wrong” because the message they give you is the message you need to receive. Yes, there exist preconceived ideas of what they symbolize, but the only reference you really need is your intuition. What does the imagery make you think of? The words? The number on the card, if it has one?

This is the key to reading intuitively, which is the type of tarot reading I practice.

I’m going to talk you through some tarot basics that I use, so you can start playing with them and seeing your story in a new light today.

The deck is split into 5 suits:

The Major ArcanaWandsSwordsCupsPentaclesThe Minor Arcana

First, let’s talk about the minor arcana, numbers, and court cards.

Wands: The suit of fire. This is a masculine-energy suit, so it’s direct and focused. This suit often has to do with business, family, and home. It’s associated with zodiac signs like Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius.Swords: The suit of air. This is the other masculine-energy suit, so it’s also active and focused. This suit often has to do with intellect, ideas, legal matters, education. It’s associated with zodiac signs like Gemini, Libra, and Aquarius.Cups: The suit of water. This is a feminine-energy suit, so it’s more reactive and big picture. This suit often has to do with emotions, interpersonal relationships, and spirituality. It’s associated with zodiac signs like Cancer, Scorpio, and Pisces.Pentacles: The suit of earth. This is the other feminine-energy suit, so it’s more reactive and big picture. This suit often has to do with resources, which can but doesn’t always include wealth. It can also relate to craftsmanship. It’s associated with zodiac signs like Taurus, Virgo, and Capricorn.

Within each of these suits, you’ll find numbered cards and court cards. The numbered cards, depending on the deck, may have scenes or just pips to represent the numbers.

Court cards reference the seeker or someone else in their lives. Pages and Queens often carry feminine energy, whereas Knights and Kings often carry masculine energy. Pages are often young, inquisitive, adventurous, and sometimes naïve. If they were readers, they’d be young adult readers. Knights are your New Adult readers—they’re older than Pages, but not possessing the wisdom of age that Queens and Kings have. In tarot, Queens rule with the heart, and Kings rule with the mind.

Numbers matter, too. For this, here’s a brief numerological reference list you can use to help you understand the minor arcana. By combining these numbers with the suit, you can gain a deeper understanding of each numbered card in any of these four suits:

Aces represent new opportunities, leadership, and gifts from the Universe.Twos are all about balance and partnership.Threes are about community and creativity.Fours reflect stability and foundations.Fives show challenges and change.Sixes involve caring for the self or others in one’s sphere.Sevens are about retreating into the self and reflection.Eights talk about hard work and mastery.Nines suggest near completion and/or serving others in a larger sphere.Tens are about the end of one cycle and the start of another.

The last key thing to understand about the minor arcana suits is they refer to everyday life.

The Major Arcana

The Major Arcana refers to the soul’s journey through life. These are bigger, more life-changing moments. A tarot spread with a lot of Major Arcana cards for a character rarely points to a quieter story.

Here’s a quick guide to help you understand how to read the Major Arcana:

The Fool is like the grand page. This card is all about faith in the self and the Universe, but also sometimes naivety.The Magician and The High Priestess are about the ability to manifest desires and know things intuitively, respectfully. They are the masculine and feminine energy cards.The Empress and The Emperor speak of the ability to create/fertility of ideas and the ability to rule, respectively. They are like the grand queen and the grand king. We can also think of them as expansive (Empress) and restrictive (Emperor) energies.The Hierophant is a card that represents authority or, if reversed, rebellion/standing out.We often see The Lovers as a romantic card—and it can certainly refer to romance. But really it’s about external partnership, whereas The Chariot is about internal partnership and control of one’s own masculine and feminine energies to create movement in life/the soul’s journey.Strength is that quiet courage, compassion and strength together.The Hermit is about self-reflection or being the light or wisdom for another.The Wheel of Fortune suggests change, but change that relies on chance. This could be a signal that the seeker can exert more control over their path or that they are trusting of the Universe.Justice is all about balance and decision.The Hanged Man shows that waiting, or perhaps a fresh perspective, would help the seeker.Death is a card that often scares people, but it doesn’t mean physical death. Rather, it’s an opportunity to rise from the ashes. Not that the “phoenix burning” moment won’t be challenging—it will be. But the seeker can grow and make something better of their situation.Temperance is about balance and moderation.The Devil is all about temptation and the seeker’s ability to break the proverbial chains.The Tower is about ideas that were built upon a foundation of inaccuracy or something that did not turn out to be true. It’s about disillusionment and the opportunity to create a narrative for the self based in truth and reality.The Star is about following one’s dreams and recognizing that to succeed, dreams must be grounded in real, temporal effort.The Moon is about illusion and magick.The Sun is about success and the ego.Judgment is about action and consequences.The World is about wisdom and completion of the cycle (which often restarts at The Fool).

A note about potentially frightening imagery: Depending on the deck you’re using, some cards may have alarming imagery. If you don’t have a deck yet and you’re worried about this, I recommend the Cat Tarot. It’s whimsical and light, but still useful. Remember: The tarot is symbolic. A collapsing tower doesn’t mean lightning will strike your house and cause it to crumble.

A note about the card meanings above: These are surface-level descriptions. As you get to know the cards more, they will take on deeper meanings. They may also take on more personal meanings. There are many books and online resources that can help you study the cards if you wish to expedite this process, but if you’re reading intuitively, don’t worry about it. Trust that the meaning you derive is the right one.

How to have a productive tarot reading

Now that you’re ready to work with the cards, I want to take a moment to ensure that you’ve got some practices in place that will help you make the most out of your reading.

The first is understanding spreads, or layouts. These are placements for the cards, chosen to help you not only read the cards in a specific order, but to see the story of the cards unfold spatially as well. If you’re new to using spreads, this will become clearer when I explain the 3-card spread below.

It doesn’t matter how you shuffle the cards. You can shuffle them any way that makes sense to you. Tarot cards can sometimes be large and some shuffling styles may feel unwieldy. Go with what works. We can say the same for cutting the deck.

It doesn’t matter how you deal or select the cards, so long as you’re consistent. Don’t flip some around and not flip others the same way.

Keep an open mind. If you are unwilling to trust the cards, they’re not likely to make sense. If you don’t believe in using them spiritually, that’s fine—think of them as a writing tool. Try not to judge the practice of using them—or your own practice of using them—ahead of time.

Finally, focus on your protagonist and story. If you don’t have one in mind yet, just focus on being ready to think about character development and story development, and trust that the cards will give you the results you require.

Get story clarity with this 3-card spread

Let’s start with the layout of the cards. The first one is easy; you’re going to place it on a flat surface in front of you in the portrait orientation. This card will represent your protagonist and their deepest desire—the why of their story.

We will place the second card in landscape orientation, atop the first card. This card is going to represent your protagonist’s major challenge or hurdle, or what stands in their way. It could be a situation or, with an antagonist, another character or group. This is going to help create tension in your story.

We will place the third and final card in portrait orientation, above the other two (not on top of them, just farther away than the first and second cards). This third card is about the climactic moment. This is the most significant reversal of your story, when the internal and external journeys shift simultaneously, when all the external beats have led up to this moment of highest tension when the reader finds out if your protagonist has changed or not, where the story tests whether your protagonist is dynamic or static.

Let’s consider a sample reading.

The first card is the Three of Pentacles. Maybe this character is an artist—a writer, a singer, an actor perhaps, dreaming of the recognition of others. But not just recognition—the type that proves the artist’s mastery of their craft. They may also dream of freedom from imposter syndrome.

The second card is The Tower. The hurdle is internal on one level, and external on another. Perhaps this artist has been told time after time that they won’t be successful. The Tower may be their first brush with success. Maybe this is the first time they’ve really had an attack of imposter syndrome. Maybe they’re ready to give up their craft.

The third card is the Eight of Pentacles. The climactic moment is when they can choose to prove that it’s through their hard work, not dreams alone, that they experience mastery. That it’s not always easy and sometimes they fail, but they can pick themselves up and get back to their creative work in order to succeed.

Sounds a lot like a budding novelist, doesn’t it?

This character’s deepest why is to have their work be appreciated, to be loved. Maybe they themselves create art in order to be loved. It doesn’t get any deeper than that.

Disillusionment creates the tension, the challenge of seeing past it to a more honest narrative.

The reversal, where the protagonist shows they can change and put real-world and working effort into their dreams, is the climactic moment of this story.

We’re given the internal journey in all three cards. The dreamer faces disillusionment and must reframe how they see themselves as successful. We’re also given the opportunity to dream up external beats. I gave some examples in the sample reading, but there are many situations that could prompt this sort of emotional journey.

Final thoughts

These three cards can help you gain clarity and focus on your story and the foundational elements that matter most. But there’s so much more tarot can do for your characters—and for you, as the writer. If you’re curious about how tarot can be a tool for writers, I hope you will continue to explore and trust your intuition.

I’m still learning about ways these cards can help with storytelling, both from a character and writer perspective, but have incorporated this practice into my writing and book coaching experiences. I’ve not only found it fulfilling and helpful, but also fun.

Fair warning though, I’ve become a bit of a tarot deck addict, and the same can easily happen to anyone. Thankfully, they don’t take up too much room on the shelf.

How to Gracefully Leave Your Writing Group

Today’s guest post is by editor and coach Lisa Cooper Ellison (@lisaellisonspen), who is teaching a class this month on Build Better Critique Groups.

You’ve been avoiding this for so long, but the problem is now unavoidable. Your fists clench on workshop day, your jaw tightens before every critique. You skim workshop submissions and check out of group discussions. Your anxiety has gotten so bad, you’ve “forgotten” a few submission dates or had “unavoidable scheduling conflicts” with Netflix or your dog. Some days, you feel like the world’s biggest jerk. On others, you dream up elaborate escape plans.

Deep in your marrow you know the truth: it’s time to leave your writing group.

You’ve left groups before, like the one with Douchebag Ken who mansplained all the things you didn’t get in his latest draft and Humblebrag Kate, who lorded her latest “Oh it was nothing” publication right before tearing your manuscript to shreds. You’ve largely blocked out that library-sponsored writing group that turned into a one-woman therapy session, and the one that quickly became a coffee klatch.

Ghosting those groups felt easy and justified. In retrospect, you can’t believe you stayed for so long. But this time, you love the people in your writing group. They’re your friends, your peeps. Only a monster would desert them.

A wise woman once told me some relationships are for a season, some for a reason, but only a few are for a lifetime. Most writing-group relationships fall in the season or reason category. That means leaving is a normal and healthy part of the workshop cycle. The question isn’t whether to leave, but how.

As a workshop aficionado and writing coach, I’ve discovered five reasons groups stop serving writers. The first is personality conflicts. But the other four have nothing to do with writer temperament or the stage of your work in progress.

1. Sometimes you outgrow your group.

Writers progress at different rates. Sometimes one critique group member leaps ahead of the others, either because they’ve studied harder or written more. Signals you’ve outgrown your group include feeling a need to catch everyone up on a missing skill and craving more sophisticated critiques. At times, you might resent the basicness of the feedback given to you.

2. It’s possible your interests have changed.

Maybe you’ve spent the past three years in a speculative fiction group, but now you’re working on a memoir. Cheers about your fantastic worldbuilding have morphed into beady-eyed glares at the three-horned, navel-gazing beast who dares to write about herself. Or maybe you’re in a memoir group and recently turned to poetry. Your memoir friends are scene-writing whizzes, but they know nothing about line breaks or meter. When a poetry group invites you to join, you feel torn between your growth and your friendships. Do you stick with the writers you know or seek the right audience for your work?

3. Sometimes priorities shift.

At first, the biweekly critique group that allowed forty-page submissions made you feel so alive. A recent promotion has whittled your writing life down to a few precious hours, turning this commitment into a burden. Sometimes the internal pressure feels so intense you avoid your inbox on submission day. Then there was that time you almost wrote I really hate you on a forty-five-page first draft. Part of you believes a real writer would tough it out, but these lengthy submissions are chipping away at both your creativity and time to generate new material.

4. Even great groups can develop unhealthy habits.

Perhaps you’ve become—or have always been—the group’s scheduler and taskmaster. You’re eager to hand the reigns to someone else, but the last time you tried, no one stepped up. Or maybe someone else has decided they’re the group’s unofficial honcho. Over time, they’ve subtly, and not so subtly, dictated meeting times, submission rules, and expectations about what, when, and how things are workshopped. You absolutely love the talented people in this group, but you already have a boss.

Leaving your writing group can elicit the same feelings as any other breakup, including grief about not seeing writing friends as often, anger that it must be this way, and fear that you won’t find anyone else to work with. But staying in a group that no longer serves you can not only stunt your growth, it can harm the relationships you’re so eager to preserve.

Tips for leaving your group with graceFind out why you want to leave.Make time to feel your feelings. If needed, discuss them with someone you trust. But don’t talk to other group members or people who gossip, especially if they know the writers you’re working with.  Honor your desire for growth, expansion, and nourishment. Remind yourself that leaving something that doesn’t serve you is both normal and healthy.If fear of not finding another group arises, explore your options. Knowing what’s available will help you communicate from a place of power. If you discover other options don’t exist, maybe what you need is a reframe or a different conversation with this group.Once you’re ready, think about what you’re going to say. Keep it clear, concise, and kind. Set a positive tone and communicate using “I” statements. Maintain a focus on your needs and how this is good for everyone. Here’s an example to help you. “Hey guys, I’m really sad about this, but my priorities have changed, and the group isn’t working for me anymore. I love you too much to stick around when I’m not fully committed. Leaving gives you a chance to find someone who is. Because you’re so important to me, I look forward to seeing you at other times. Who’s going to next week’s reading?”Prepare for reactions and pressure to stay, especially if you’ve played a pivotal role. Affirm how sad and disappointing departures are, then repeat the key lines from your rehearsed speech.Refrain from hopping on the guilt train, and don’t buy into phrases like “we can’t go on without you,” or “I guess this means the group’s breaking up.” If the group breaks up, it probably wasn’t that strong or large enough to begin with.If you’re feeling generous, you can offer to introduce the group to someone who might be a good fit, or you can share resources that can helps them regroup. But don’t place their writing lives on your shoulders.Commemorate your time together through a closing ceremony. If the people in your group truly are friends, there’s no reason to say goodbye. Instead, have a picnic.

While writing group horror stories abound, many of us have belonged to special groups that have furthered our growth. And, while we continue to love those writers, we’ve had to move on. You can too. Wanting to leave doesn’t make you a jerk. Departing with grace is an act of kindness that furthers your development and the friendships you cherish.

Note from Jane: If you enjoyed this post, join Lisa and me for the online class Build Better Critique Groups.

Why So Many Blogs and Newsletters Aren’t Worth the Writer’s Effort

Note from Jane: On April 21, I’ll be teaching a class in partnership with Writer’s Digest, Blogging Strategies That Work in 2022.

Writers are told so often, and so adamantly, that they need to blog or have an email newsletter that I read countless confused and half-hearted attempts. I fell into that category myself years ago, directionless but feeling like I had to do something.

Unfortunately, doing something can be worse than nothing if it takes time away from more valuable writing and marketing activities. And more often these days, I’m telling writers to stop their blogging activity (and even sometimes their newsletter sending—until they come up with a better strategy). Here are the key reasons why.

The writing amounts to “musings”

Once upon a time, around 2001, blogging was informal and akin to journaling, but those days are long gone. If you’re trying to blog or send an email newsletter with a marketing or platform building effect, random thoughts and ideas you had over breakfast isn’t likely to cut it. Social media is the best place for musings, especially if you’re in the mood for conversation or to compare notes with other people.

Instead, for blogging: Think about the potential value and longevity of the content and why people might be compelled to share it with others. Blog content, despite being free, should offer some of your most iconic and impressive material to be noticed and competitive. Here at my site, you can find such material under the blog tab—you’ll see my “greatest hits” where I give away essential information on the business of publishing. If people enjoy it, they’ll certainly find their way to my books or classes on the topic.

For email newsletters: musings might be acceptable for an intimate audience of fans. Just make sure that it matches your voice and what people come to you for. Which brings me to the next reason blogs/newsletters fail.

The writing is overly informational and without voice

Both blogs and email newsletters excel when there is an identifiable voice behind them or a particular angle or POV offered. My POV here is to educate writers on the business. I’m frank, honest, and don’t hold back on the realities. Other blogs for writers might be more encouraging or inspiring. I err in the opposite direction.

The greatest sin you can commit, unless you are writing entries for Wikipedia, is to simply convey information. There may be a few rare occasions where that is merited, like when you need to offer instructions on how to do something. But otherwise, blogs and newsletters thrive on you creating a connection with the reader. People tend to stick around because they value and want to hear from you.

It took me years to find my voice, and it’s a journey that’s hard to speed up. But here is one secret: envision one person you know well, who you feel comfortable and confident with, that loves to hear from you or learn from you. Write for them to help find your way.

The writing doesn’t consistently connect to current or future work

One author I consulted has been blogging for years how to be your best self, then segued into racism after George Floyd’s murder. What’s her upcoming book about? A memoir on reciting Kaddish for her father for a full year. It’s a fascinating story, full of internal and external conflict, but her blogging and newsletter effort didn’t connect to it. (For an in-depth look at this case, watch my Business Clinic from last month.)

Sometimes writers cite their own boredom as a reason to write about anything and everything, while others think that any blogging will do, and the topic doesn’t matter. But it does matter because each piece of writing you take time to write and publish creates both an impression and an opportunity. When you add up those impressions over time, you become known for something. You want to be intentional in what you’re getting known for.

If you have little or no consistency in what you’re writing, it’s difficult to create impressions or opportunities around the work you want to be known for—or earn a living from.

For more guidance on writing effective blogs and email newslettersHow to Start Blogging: A Definitive Guide for WritersEmail Newsletters for Writers: Get Started GuideBlogging Versus Email Newsletter: Which Is Better for Writers?

On April 21, I’ll be teaching a class in partnership with Writer’s Digest, Blogging Strategies That Work in 2022.

Why Your Amazing Writing Group Might Be Failing You

Today’s guest post is by editor and coach Lisa Cooper Ellison (@lisaellisonspen), who is teaching a class this month on Build Better Critique Groups.

I met a woman we’ll call Tina in a college creative writing class. With a 10-inch band of black jelly bracelets and burgundy-striped, black hair, Tina exuded 1990s cool. Every outfit she wore included fishnet stockings tucked into a worn pair of Doc Martens. Fans like me willingly stood in clouds of her clove cigarette smoke, perhaps hoping to inhale a few atoms of talent from this published, twenty-something author. 

If “show, don’t tell” is the first advice writers receive, the second is to join a writing group. I secretly hoped Tina would slip me an invitation to the coveted critique group she called a salon. Sadly, that never happened. Still, writing friends told me all the cool kids had a writing group. So I searched for one at coffee shops, open mics, and writing classes, hoping a great group would help me not just finish my projects, but help me get them published. 

Three decades and multiple writing groups later, I can attest to their value. As a writing coach, I regularly extoll their benefits to students and clients. In my experience, 99.9% of writing group members are generous souls who’ll spend hours poring over your manuscripts. The most successful groups—like the one in Portland that Chelsea Cain, Monica Drake, Cheryl Strayed, Lidia Yuknavitch, and Chuck Palahniuk belong to—can launch the careers of bestsellers. It’s the reason so many writers use words like amazing, necessary, and sacred to describe them. 

But if writing groups are so helpful and so beloved, why do some writers never graduate from project-in-progress to project done? Is it a matter of following the twelve-step slogan “keep coming back; it works if you work it,” or could a healthy, highly coveted writing group fail you?

When most people think of writing groups, it’s the workshop-driven critique group they have in mind. In these groups, writers exchange pages and give each other feedback. But other groups exist, and not all dissect manuscripts. Some are designed for accountability or focus solely on helping writers generate new material. That’s important because each stage in the writing process requires something different.  

Yet not every writer or writing group knows this. Even when they do, their helpful nature might compel them to honor your feedback requests. Unfortunately, ill-timed critiques can lead to resentments that make your writing group feel less like a helpful resource and more like a swamp full of Grendels whose sole purpose is tearing your project limb from limb. 

The real reason writing groups sometimes fail us has nothing to do with the lovely people in them. The failure is due to a mismatch between what you need and what the group offers. Most people wouldn’t try to buy beef from a gynecologist, nor would they bend over and ask the produce manager at their favorite grocery store for a prostate exam. But sometimes that’s exactly what we ask the wrong writing groups to do. And that’s why the very best writing groups with the very best people will occasionally fail you. 

When working through a first draft, your goal might be to race to the end so you can get a sense of the story you’re trying to tell. But workshopping scenes along the way will thwart your forward motion, no matter how skilled or kind your reviewers. Instead of drafting new chapters, you’ll feel compelled to revise and then resubmit the same material to your group, hoping they’ll confirm you’re on the right track. And therein lies the problem. Not only will that slow your drafting down, but you’ll waste valuable creative energy on something that might get cut. Think of it as the polishing a turd problem. Even if the writing doesn’t stink, you might need to flush it. Resubmitting potential turds can also lead you down tangents that stall your story or bloat your word count.

That doesn’t mean you can’t ask for feedback, especially if you’re struggling with doubts. Instead of asking for a literary proctology exam, tell your group you need nourishment, then request positive feedback. Ask group members to flag what’s working, what makes them curious, and what they want more of. Let that feedback fuel your creativity so you can race to the finish line and then see what really matters. 

But that’s not the only way writing groups can unwittingly thwart your progress. The opposite of the critique group is the generativity group where writers respond to prompts and then share their freshly created works. If the critique group is the proctologist of the literary world, then generativity groups are more like produce stands. They can be loads of fun, and if you find the right one, you’ll feel nourished and generate a ton of new material.

That’s fabulous if you’re early in your writing career, between projects, or just starting a new one. But when you’re in the throes of heavy revision and you know where you’re going, what you need is an accountability group or occasional course-corrective feedback from one or two highly skilled writers. Get that and you’re likely to shift from project-in-progress to project done, even if your group doesn’t contain a Tina or refer to itself as a salon.

So how do you choose the best writing group for you? 

Know the stage of your main project.Think about what you need based on that stage.Find a group that meets your needs. If your group’s purpose doesn’t align with your needs take a break. If you depart with grace, they’ll still love you. 

What writing group issues have you faced? Share them in comments. I’d love to hear from you. 

If you enjoyed this post, join us for Lisa’s class on how to build better critique groups.

Why You Should Consider a University Press for Your Book

Today’s guest post is by Adam Rosen (@adammmmmrosen).

For many authors, there’s a certain template for book publishing “success”: signing with an agent, getting a decent advance, and watching the awards and social media followers roll in. Achieving this fantasy, as you no doubt know, is famously challenging—and arguably getting more so every year as Big Publishing continues to consolidate (to say nothing of recent employee turmoil).

While it’s an oversimplification to declare that the big houses stake too much on celebrity memoirs, former Trump staffer tell-alls, IPs, and other supposed sure bets, there’s more than a kernel of truth here. Platform and brand arguably matter now more than ever, especially when it comes to nonfiction.

Despair not, though. If you have a small platform and a big idea (and strong writing skills), there are other options. Enter the humble, often overlooked university press.

Within the past few years university presses have been publishing some of the most exciting, critically acclaimed trade books around. Last year, for instance, three out of the ten books longlisted for a National Book Award for Nonfiction were published by university presses. West Virginia University Press, which puts out 18 to 20 books a year and is the state of West Virginia’s only book publisher, has earned the sort of recognition and media attention you’d typically expect from a hip new indie press or house ten times its size. In 2020, Deesha Philyaw’s The Secret Lives of Church Ladies, a short story collection published by the four-person WVUP staff (now five), was named a finalist for the National Book Award for Fiction and earned a PEN/Faulkner Award, among several other prestigious accolades; last October it was announced that a TV adaptation of the book was in the works for HBO Max. The next month, Ghosts of New York by Jim Lewis, another West Virginia release, made the New York Times list of 100 Notable Books of 2021.

University presses have carved out a unique place in the trade publishing landscape, says Kristen Elias Rowley, editor in chief of Ohio State University Press, by providing an opportunity for “books that can’t find a home elsewhere.” This often translates to “projects that are either pushing boundaries in terms of form or content or voice. Projects that a larger press is going to say, ‘You know, we can’t sell 50,000 copies of this, so we’re not going to do it’ or ‘We don’t think this is mainstream enough.’” She points to two upcoming titles on OSUP’s catalog, cultural critic Negesti Kaudo’s collection of personal essays, Ripe (a Lit Hub Most Anticipated Book of 2022), and Finding Querencia: Essays from In-Between by Harrison Candelaria Fletcher, as examples. Both collections will be released through OSUP’s trade imprint, Mad Creek, this month.

Elias Rowley estimates that at least half of all university presses publish books by non-academics. While the core mandate of UPs is to advance scholarship through journals and scholarly monographs, they also have a mission to “put important literary or other general public or regional works out into the world,” she says. Of the 40 to 60 books a year OSUP publishes, roughly a dozen are trade books released through Mad Creek.

“It never seemed like the point was to be insular,” says Derek Krissoff, director of West Virginia University Press. “Part of the value proposition for [UPs] is building bridges that go out to other communities” beyond the confines of academia. In Krissoff’s view, this larger purpose gives university presses leeway to make decisions that are less commercially driven. “We’re very concerned about being thoughtful stewards of people’s resources, because we are part of the state of West Virginia. But we don’t have shareholders who need to be rewarded, and we can be a little bit freer in terms of what we choose to invest in,” says Krissoff. In light of WVU’s recent wave of success, this (winning) strategy feels more than a little ironic.

The backbone of many university presses’ trade programs is probably familiar: local and regional history, cookbooks, photography books, and other sorts of consumer-friendly titles with an obvious connection to the area or university. But many also offer a home for books that are niche, experimental, challenging in various ways, and/or just kind of weird.

I’d like to think of my own as an example of the latter. In February 2018 I put the finishing touches on my proposal: a collection of essays, from various contributors, on the cult film The Room, widely considered “the worst movie of all time” and a personal obsession of mine. My prototype was the Indiana University Press series The Year’s Work: Studies in Fan Culture and Cultural Theory, a heady series devoted to dissecting pop culture bric-a-brac. Its topics of focus ranged from the straightforward (The Worlds of John Wick) to the strange (Household Horror: Cinematic Fear and the Secret Life of Everyday Objects).

I discovered the series after coming across a 2009 entrant, The Year’s Work in Lebowski Studies, a deconstruction of, you guessed it, The Big Lebowski. The essay collection felt revelatory, offering enlightening historical and critical analysis that helped less-savvy viewers (such as myself) uncover the layers upon layers of meaning in the film, whether related to the Gulf War, the failures of the New Left, or the influence of literary critic Paul de Man on the Coen brothers (and, of course, nihilists and white Russians). It was often hilarious, but it took its subject matter seriously. For its efforts it snagged reviews in the New York Times and Washington Post.

A few of the agents I submitted my proposal to told me they liked my idea but the scope felt too narrow; one suggested I expand the focus to bad films in general. Alternatively, it was too academic. The bottom line was that they didn’t think they could sell it in its current form.

After several dozen rejections, I changed tacks and started submitting directly to university presses, who I knew were open to unsolicited queries and proposals. This time the feedback was more encouraging, but I still ran into the same problem, just from a different side: several editors said they liked my idea, but it felt too trade-y—they wouldn’t know how to sell it.

The sweet spot, it turned it out, was with an academic press with a strong trade arm who published on pop culture: Indiana University Press, i.e., the publisher who put out the very book I was meticulously, and possibly shamelessly, modeling my own book on. I ended up exactly where I began. 

Initially I was a bit surprised that they’d have me. I have a BA in political science, and while as a freelance writer I’ve written about pop culture (including a piece on The Room), I don’t have a film beat. And yet, four years later, I’m the editor of and contributor to a collection of essays about a film, a book whose vast majority of contributors are academics. Another, related data point: an author whose book proposal and sample chapters I recently edited has received an encouraging amount of initial interest from her first-choice publisher, a university press in her geographic area, despite not having a bachelor’s. But she does have excellent research skills and deep professional expertise in a field related to the topic of her book, an iconic bridge.

All of which is to say that (a) university presses are not just for scholars; and (b) many are far more open-minded than you may think—as I once thought.

If you are interested in submitting to a university press, Elias Rowley and Krissoff have a few suggestions. Given the unique focus areas and track record of each press, any place you contact should be a good match for your topic. Proposing a book about birding in Maine probably isn’t a great fit for, say, University of Nevada Press. That said, “fit” can be expansive, thematic as much as geographic. “I think what our books have in common is that they are grounded in place,” says Krissoff. “And it doesn’t always mean they’re grounded in our place, although a lot of our books are about Appalachia or about Appalachian topics.”

While having a decent platform doesn’t hurt, says Krissoff, it’s not necessary; he says he doesn’t look for an author’s metrics when he’s reviewing a project. If he likes their idea, it’s much more important that the author is willing to truly commit to the writing, revising, and marketing processes. “Platform is always a bonus and can really make a difference in the outcome for a book, but it’s not going to be the thing that makes me decide not to do a project,” says Elias Rowley. “I’m not looking for a bare minimum of certain kinds of requirements. I’m looking for [if] this is a book that should be out there in the world.”

To that end, Elias Rowley says that it’s rarely too early to get on an editor’s radar. She advises authors to reach out and connect with editors early on, whether it’s through email or in-person events like the Association of Writers & Writing Programs (AWP) conference. She’ll even respond to queries that are submitted before the proposal’s been written. This way, if she likes an idea and thinks it might be a good fit, she can help develop it from the beginning. “We’re interested in forging those relationships and having it be a collaborative partnership,” she says.

The downsides? University presses typically don’t offer an advance, and if they do, it’s probably going to be pretty modest. That said, if your book sells well, you earn royalties immediately, since you don’t need to “earn out.” As Belt publisher Anne Trubek puts it, “Advances are royalties. They just come sooner.” It’s also expected that authors supply their own index, which means either using software to do a bad job or hiring someone to make one (what I did). I also gave each essay contributor an honorarium.

So when my book publishes this October, technically I’ll already be in the hole. Will I sell enough books to break even? Hard to say. I do think it could be a strong backlist contender. As I argue in my book, The Room has become The Rocky Horror Picture Show for the millennial generation. There are (or were, before Covid) monthly Saturday night screenings of it around the world, each replete with a set of established viewing rituals. The film’s notoriety continues to grow alongside that of its eccentric creator, Tommy Wiseau. But this may be wishful thinking.

On the other hand, I already consider my journey a success. Having a book title under my name with a well-respected university press has brought me a level of professional prestige, boosting my credibility as freelance book editor and opening doors for various writing projects. I also have the satisfaction of having taken the germ of an idea, turned it into a proposal, wrangled together 16 smart (and, blessedly, easy to work with) contributors, and executed the entire thing into the form of a book I will eventually hold in my hands. And, certainly last but not least, I’d like to think I’ve played a small part in furthering the world’s knowledge of the worst movie of all time, which surely counts for something.

It’s not the typical publishing success template, much less a show on HBO Max. But it just may be good enough.