The One Skill Absolutely All Writers Need

And no, it isn’t the ability to read a style manual.  And it isn’t the ability to spend money on advertising.  It isn’t even the ability to craft a beautifully worded sentence.  Or paragraph.  Or, indeed, entire book.  Rather, it’s the ability to communicate successfully.  One thing I talk about in Self Publishing Is for Losers (there’s an excerpt below) is the absolutely vital importance of learning, not simply to get along with other people but to prioritize getting along with other people. Which, oddly enough, many writers don’t–and don’t see the need to.

There’s a profound irony, here, that so many people who ostensibly want to write for a living have no interest in learning to actually communicate successfully.  They forget, I think, that writing is communicating.  When you write a craft a story, your goal is to connect, on a personal level, with your reader.  To make them feel something, yes–but to make them feel what you want them to feel.  Scared.  Sad.  Tormented by the idea that your two lovers might not get together after all.  But these goals aren’t specific to writing; they’re the goals that everyone should have, whenever they communicate.  Actually talking to other people, and doing so successfully, is the writing version of cross-training for a marathon.  And just like anyone who isn’t interested in putting in the hard work of cross-training probably isn’t going to do very well in an actual race time situation, anyone who isn’t genuinely interested in other people probably isn’t going to do very well as a writer.

If you’re not interested in connecting with other people, then why are you writing in the first place?  What could possibly be interesting about the process of evoking emotions in others, when you find them too boring to consider?  Too many writers, and would be writers, treat other people merely as sounding boards.  Or forget that they’re people at all.  I could make an argument, here–and do in this forthcoming book, as well as in my writing guide–about how treating other writers like enemies isn’t a viable means of achieving career success.  But on a more fundamental level, to be a good writer, you have to be interested in people.

If you don’t take a few lines of casual communication seriously, then how are you preparing yourself to write a book?

Many people find this kind of advice offensive; they’re firmly of the opinion that they should be able to say whatever they want, and it’s on the other guy to do the hard work of interpreting them correctly.  Which, apart from being an illogical and self-serving point of view, is also not one that translates well into writing.  Because you’re not there, hovering over someone’s shoulder as they read, telling them how they “should” interpret every line.  Communicating successfully is about sharing your viewpoint without the need for ex post facto editorialization.

Before I was a writer, I was an attorney.  And standing up, day after day, in front of complete strangers and trying to convince them that I had a valid point taught me some valuable lessons.  Lessons that have translated–you can decide for yourself how effectively–into my writing and into my coaching.  I learned, first and foremost, that people are turned off by anyone who comes along and says “I’m right.”  They’re not impressed by being lectured, or by litanies of credentials.  I went to a couple of brand name schools; once I graduated, no one cared.  What made people listen to me was, ultimately, my desire to connect with them.  Courtroom antics only happen in the movies; in real life, people are a lot less persuaded by are you lying then, or are you lying now? than they are by someone who’s able to get up, talk to them like equals, and make logical sense doing so.

I’ve seen some–intellectually–brilliant lawyers fail, because they focused on what should work rather than on what works.  They read, and reread case law rather than reading social cues.  They wanted to tell other people how they should think, rather than meet them on the equal playing field of acceptance in terms of how they actually did think.  Of how everyone actually thinks.  Because, regardless of our social background or education level, we’re all pretty much the same.  If you wouldn’t like something done to you, then don’t do it to somebody else.

So by the time I wrote my first novel, I had a fairly keen understanding of the fact that good communication isn’t communication that follows the rules–although you need to know the rules, in order to deviate from them successfully–but communication that works.  Just like the measure of your strength as a litigator is how well you convince the jury (or, occasionally, just the judge), the measure of your strength as a writer is how successfully you invite people in to share the contents of your head.

Any competent attorney knows the relevant case law, just like any competent writer can construct a sentence; it’s what you do with that information that counts.  What you do with that information, and what you’re using it to share.  And what, most importantly, is motivating your desire to share in the first place.

And now, for those who are still reading, a quick excerpt from Chapter One: Why You Should Self Publish, and Why You Shouldn’t:

So who should self publish?

Let’s start by talking about who shouldn’t.

First, people who aren’t good at taking criticism. Self publishing is not a way to avoid criticism. Quite the opposite! If you’re publishing with a big outfit then you can, to some extent, insulate yourself from experiences like bad reviews. The blame for everything falls directly on you. You, and no one else. And yet I’ve met more than one person who identified self publishing as a way to access the publishing world without having to deal with other people. Either because they didn’t like other people, or value their contributions, or because they suffered from some character flaw that made interacting with other people in a healthy and productive manner all but impossible.

I’ve talked to more than one writer, over time, who absolutely blew up the first time I suggested changing a paragraph, or even correcting typos. Responded to me in a way that can only be described as the verbal equivalent of Peter Griffin versus the chicken. And was shocked, absolutely shocked, when I responded by not wanting to work with them.

Listen: if you’re entitled, or rude, or have such a brittle ego that you erupt in nonsensical rage every time someone questions you, then the answer is to fix those problems. Stop wasting your energy looking for a place where they’re okay; they’re not okay, and there’s no industry that rewards people for being such bags of dicks that no one will work with them.

Writing may be a fun job, but it’s still a job. The nature of how you publish your writing doesn’t change this. You might not have to interact with as many people on a daily basis as, say, your average Starbucks barista but you will still have to interact with people: with editors, with other writers if you’re hoping they’ll blurb your books. With the people at Amazon, and potentially also at Smashwords, and CreateSpace. And yes, these are companies—but companies staffed by real people, who have wants and needs and priorities, just like you. Who can help you or hurt you in your success, and who will be much less invested in your success if you treat them like your slaves.

Your ability to connect with other writers, moreover, will greatly enhance—or, conversely, hurt—your potential for success. At every echelon, there aren’t that many of us out there. A professor of mine, back in law school, gave our class a speech about how reputation was everything. Years later, I still remember that speech, because everything he said in it turned out to be true. People remember who’s rude, who steals ideas, and who’s just generally a misery to work with.

And while you may think that self publishing is a great way to avoid people, because there’s no structured agent or publisher relationship, the opposite is true. Because now, instead of having a team of people behind you, you have…you. You’re responsible for everything: planning, marketing, everything. When people decide they don’t want to work with you, that’s that. There’s no Random House backing you up, convincing them to give you another chance.

You can, of course, develop your own team; either by paying people to work with you or by developing, over time, a team of people with whom you can barter for goods and services. There are a lot of us out there who have these kinds of relationships, both formal and informal. We help each other, because we’re stronger together. And, in time, you can build up a network of mutual support rivaling that found in the most powerful publishing house. But again, that takes you back to the same square one you were at when you decided not to query agents: to succeed with people, you have to convince them that you’re someone they want to work with.

Which, for self published authors, means convincing them entirely on the strength of your own merit.

There is absolutely no way to succeed in this business without interacting with people.