Things You Need To Succeed As An Author (Other Than A Good Book)
Ice T was right: it’s a fun job, but it’s still a job.
Yesterday, at our ward’s “trunk or treat” activity, a friend of my husband’s asked what I was doing about book tours. When was I going on one? Why wasn’t I going on one? I did my best to explain that, for most of us (i.e. those of us who aren’t Neil Gaiman), book tours aren’t really a thing. He seemed pretty discouraged by this answer. Everyone–including us writers, I think–sort of expects that once you publish a book you’re golden. The gatekeepers have been appeased, Paradise lies beyond! So the idea that, no, publishing one book only means that you’d better hurry up and publish another one…it’s not what people want to hear. It’s disappointing.
More than once, I’ve had people tell me that they think they should write a book too, as it’s an “easy” way to “make a quick buck.” I’ve gotten over the fact that this is sort of insulting to me and moved on to just wishing them good luck. And I do wish them all the luck in the world. They’ll find out for themselves that it isn’t as easy as they think it is–and that completing your first manuscript, far from the end of the road, is only the beginning.
But it occurred to me this morning, when I woke up with a terrible cold (nursing my family back to health has its rewards!), decided I wasn’t going to church, and decided instead to dwell unproductively on my latest bad review. And then I thought I’d do something slightly more productive, and write this (hopefully illuminating) post on things you need to succeed as a writer–other than, of course, a decent book.
You need:
A thick skin.
A work ethic.
Self control.
Realistic expectations.
Self confidence.
Last night, I was talking to a friend of mine and wound up telling her about the “less strong, independent women, more bulging…wallets” dynamic in historical romance. She’s a highly intelligent, compassionate individual with many wise points to make on a variety of subjects, so her advice is always welcome. We talked about the role of women in fiction for awhile, and what women want out of fiction, and I wound up also telling her that I was currently writing a modern retelling of Beauty and the Beast. “Another one?” she said. She proceeded to list off all the other retellings which, in her mind, had cornered an already exhausted market. After which she, perhaps realizing that this might be upsetting, rushed to point out that she was certain there must be something left to say. Somewhere.
But what she didn’t realize was that this, from my perspective, was a great thing. At least someone was actually talking to me about my work. My work. The actual, you know, thing I care passionately enough about to do every day. Not my sales, or when I was going on a book tour. Or hadn’t I really sold my car, because I couldn’t sell any books. There’s a fairly large subset of the population who wants you to justify your life choices to them, life choices that have absolutely no impact on them.
And then there are the trolls.
Or, simply, the people who just plain hate your work. Every paragraph, every line. And they aren’t kind (or articulate) about it, either. They absolutely live to excoriate you. Some of them fancy themselves to be connoisseurs of the arts; some of them are frustrated writers, making themselves feel better about their own lack of production by criticizing people who actually have managed to get their act together enough to publish a book. It’s a lot easier to nitpick someone else’s efforts than it is to get off your duff and do something. To make something of your own. Even so, it hurts. No amount of abstract intellectualism can make up for the fact that being attacked sucks. Whether it’s people telling you that your work is terrible–your work that’s your baby, that’s part of you–or telling you that you personally are terrible. Which also happens, and probably more often than you’d think.
I defend other (and mostly more successful) authors like Stephenie Meyer; not because I love Twilight so much (although I did enjoy the books), but because she, too, has striven to create something. And if everyone else really thinks they’re so much better, then why haven’t they published their own books? The attacks on Stephenie Meyer are, I think, indicative of a larger, systemic problem within the writing world: that people tear each other down rather than build each other up. That instead of learning from, say, Ms. Meyer’s success, they respond to it by denigrating her work.
And if you publish a book, especially an even moderately successful one, it’ll happen to you.
So the first thing you need is a thick skin.
It’s really, really easy to let the criticisms get you down to the point where you just want to give up. To stop writing, or doing anything creative at all, because the whole stupid, thankless mess seems like such an uphill battle. Only instead of ever reaching the top, or any top, you’re stuck mucking around in the foothills like Sisyphus. Whatever it is, you have to be able to shrug it off. Again, and again, and again. Learn to have a sense of humor about it. Don’t let it make you bitter. And don’t…
Let it stop you from writing, because the next thing you need is a work ethic. Being a one book wonder is like being a one hit wonder on the radio: hard, but not as hard as you’d think. The real challenge comes in translating that hit into a career. Because, again, as Ice T observes, each single doesn’t last very long. And it doesn’t. Even if your first book is exceptionally well received and sells many thousands of copies…so what? Fans are fickle. They’re now waiting for you to come out with your next book. Keeping the fans you have means continuing to entertain them. Moreover, it’s going to be very hard to pick up new fans if you’re not consistently producing new work.
Part of what makes you interesting to fans is that you’re permanent. They want to know that a) your next book will come out, reliably, within a reasonable frame of time and b) it’s any good. The best sellers, long term, are the ones who can produce a consistent product. Even wildly successful authors have significantly reduced, or even lost their fan bases, because they started phoning it in. Permanence isn’t simply an issue of throwing new material at the world but of carefully curating that material. I write in a couple of genres, which is both a blessing and a curse. People tend to like one genre, or the other; relatively few of my fans read everything I write. But whether paranormal romance, erotica, or horror, my books are all of a consistent quality–consistently wonderful or consistently terrible, depending on who you ask!
Resting on your laurels, in any field, is pretty much a one-way ticket to failure.
You also need self control. Don’t be like the crazy woman who showed up on her fan’s doorstep. Part of maintaining self control is maintaining perspective. One is crucial to the other. Whether one feels that a person is somehow “hiding” their identity online is irrelevant to the discussion–and to the larger issues spawning that discussion. So, someone didn’t like your book. So, she potentially posted the review under a fake name. So, who cares?
We’ve all been there; anyone who’s encountered the internet has encountered someone we believe, rightly or wrongly, to be a complete idiot. The answer is never to make others responsible for one’s own behavior by adopting the, “she made me do it” attitude but, rather, by stepping back and counting to ten. Moreover, given that this woman thinks showing up at someone’s house is a completely normative reaction, I’m not at all surprised that she didn’t recognize rape in her own book. Part of the problem with rape, and all other crimes that involve a boundary violation, is that not everyone agrees that the other person has a right to boundaries in the first place; “she made me do it” can take many forms–from “she made me do it” by making me angry so I “had” to start stalking her to “she made me do it” by wearing a short skirt.
Years ago, I wrote a (professional) review for a (professional review) website, discussing the treatment of rape in a fantasy series. The author of that series tracked me down and made my life miserable. My response was that, while I was dismayed that she didn’t like my review, her response did absolutely nothing to convince me that I was wrong. Attacking someone for disagreeing with you is never a smart move; the internet is a public space, with real people behind each and every computer screen. This author would do well to remember that; and to rethink that, if she can’t keep herself together at the idea that someone might not like her book, she might want to pursue a different career. Being in the public eye, to any extent, is no fun–but it’s also the price you pay when you decide to pursue a career in this field.
Other people are NOT responsible for your ego. Yes, getting a bad review sucks; and reading the comments from other people applauding that bad review sucks, too. But guess what: publishing a book is optional. Putting your sacred personal experience out there for total strangers to shred is optional. If you don’t want to have this experience, then great. It’s really easy to avoid: don’t write for public consumption.
Yes, people write reviews that seem “inaccurate.” I mean, DUH! The only “accurate” review, to the author, is the one that matches the author’s internal monologue. Which, again, I refer you to the point above. And yes, people publish reviews without finishing the book. Which is, in of itself, an important aspect of the review! THEY DID NOT LIKE THE BOOK ENOUGH TO FINISH IT. THEY ARE UNDER NO OBLIGATION TO YOU, THE AUTHOR, OR TO ANYONE ELSE TO FINISH IT. THIS IS NOT A HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENT AND YOU ARE NOT THE TEACHER. Get over yourself!
Unlike Mr. Cormier, I’m not “in the middle” on this. As the survivor of a violent crime, after which I was hospitalized for some time and almost died, I’m fully aware that the people who stalk, rape, and even kill their victims have what are, in their own minds, perfectly viable rationalizations. That they might “realize,” perhaps with the aid of public pressure, that their behavior was dysfunctional–conveniently after the fact–doesn’t erase the trauma they’ve caused their victims. I will bear the scars, internal and external, from what happened to me for the rest of my life. And I wasn’t all that interested in hearing, after I left the hospital with a plate in my head and my eyeball reattached, that my attacker felt like I “made” him do it by “being a bitch.”
Where does it end? At what point do our excuses for not maintaining self control become ridiculous? At what point should we stop expecting others to see things from our point of view, merely because we have one?
Maintaining self control ties, too, into having realistic expectations. That everyone will love your book, or that if they don’t love your book, they’ll be sure to post their negative reviews under their own full names along with their personal contact information so you can thoughtfully “correct” their nonconforming point of view is not a realistic thing to expect. And yet, apparently, many authors, and would-be authors, do. Catfishing? You want to talk about catfishing? How many authors write under assumed names, because they’re looking to protect their privacy? The term “catfish” applies an intent to defraud. People who catfish are hiding their identity in order to achieve a very specific purpose. Merely using a pen name isn’t “catfishing.” I write under a pen name–so what?
I’m not lying to anyone about who I am, or what I believe. Everything I write, in the nonfiction sense, is true. I’m perfectly open about the fact that I don’t use my legal name, because I want to protect my privacy. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Any more than Robert Jordan, Ayn Rand or Ann Landers were catfish.
And clearly, the fact that if you’re not careful people will show up on your doorstep, or send you death threats GamerGate-style, amply proves that there is reason for caution!
The “catfish” debate is a red herring. People have the right to their privacy, and to establishing their own boundaries. This is non-negotiable. Whatever boundaries they establish are, themselves, non-negotiable. A reader doesn’t need an author’s permission to write a bad review, or to decide that the book is so bad they can’t finish it. The idea that you somehow have the “right” to someone’s personal information–especially to use it for ill, as tracking someone down to confront them surely is–is, in of itself, a form of violation very akin to rape. It’s castigating someone for presuming to set a boundary; for presuming to say no–and for, gasp, not even realizing that they “should” ask for permission!
Deciding that people have no right to withhold from you…stay home. If you’re afraid that you might rape someone, then lock yourself in your bedroom. If you’re afraid that getting a bad review might send you over the edge, then don’t publish a book!
Which brings me to my last point: you need self confidence.
Accepting “no” for an answer requires a lot of self confidence. People respond with fury to “no,” in all its various forms, when their psyches are so brittle that the mere concept of rejection is shattering. Learn to say no. Learn to hear no. Learn to recognize that someone else’s “no” isn’t a comment on you. It’s their choice–for them. How they lead their lives is no comment on you; it has nothing to do with you.
Do what you have to do, to keep writing about writing.
