editing

The E-mail Newsletter: Live-blogging _The Business of Being a Writer_

This is Part 13 of a multiple-part live-blog of Jane Friedman’s The Business of Being a Writer. Parts 1-12 can be found here.

Writer and editor Jane Friedman believes writing can be a career, and her latest book, The Business of Being a Writer, lays out just what components go into writing as a business. It should resonate with everyone out there who writes or would like to write for a living. It’s my hope that teachers of writing, especially at the MFA level, will also take up this refrain. 

I’m working through Friedman’s book right now, and I am finding places where my own experience either bolsters or informs Friedman’s neat summation and gentle advice. For the duration of my time through this first read of The Business of Being a Writer, I will be posting these experiences for you. I invite you to share widely, and add your own experiences to the comments. Each post will begin with a quote from Friedman’s book, and end with some actionable tips that you can put to work in your own writing career.

So what should you put in this newsletter? The only limit is your imagination, and while the intent is to keep your name and work in front of people, you also want to keep it interesting—which means trying to provide value or otherwise focus on other people or quality content. (The Business of Being a Writer, pp. 191-193)

I’ve just sent out the latest copy of my newsletter. I try to do one once a month, but every once in awhile I slip up, and actually, I wish I’d started this whole newsletter thing a lot earlier. As has been previously discussed on my social media, I love letters, anyway, so what took me so long?

I thought for this post, we’d dissect my own newsletter, and then I’ll tell you about a few I really like, how’s that?

The first thing people see is the subject line. For awhile there, I had a cutesy name for my newsletter—Yi Shun’s MiscelLAIney—but I abandoned that quickly. I’ve never been known by my last name, really, and nothing in my name loans itself to a cute pun or moniker, so I just started titling it by whatever month it was. (“July News from Yi Shun,” say.) I’m not thrilled with this, but for now, it is what it is, and I’m okay with it.

The second thing folks see is a banner photo. I try hard to choose one that’s different each time, but lately I’ve been finding myself gravitating to the same style of banner photo–a bunch of fruit or a big swathe of something or another, like trees or blue sky, and that’s okay; I just need to be better about making sure I take one of these photos at least once a month, so I have a ready stock to choose from, and a photo that makes me feel good. What is the point in struggling when I can make it easier on myself? And I really enjoy the act of putting together the newsletter, except for when I struggle for one reason or another—like hunting down a stupid banner photo. Meh.

The second thing is the headline. This sets the tone for the whole newsletter. In my template, the headline reads, “You guys it is over 100 out,” or something colloquial like that. I like the chatty tone, but I have got to be better about crafting these headlines. They do not stick, and I’m not sure they invoke people to reading these newsletters.

After the headline, they get to the chatty intro paragraph. I think this is just a hangover from regular letters for me. It’s a certain amount of throat-clearing, but I like to see it as a little thank you and a tiny catch-up, the “So…how are you?” part of the newsletter. Whatever you call it, I’m going to hang onto it, for now. It seems weird to start any correspondence without it. I’m going to fine-tune it sometime in the near future, though, and play with some anchor links to the different sections of the newsletter, so people can jump quickly to those sections.

The first real section is the list of books I’ve read since I last checked in with my newsletter readership. These are preceded by a little paragraph, and sometimes a photo, of an indie bookstore I visited in the preceding month. Sometimes I don’t get to visit a bookstore, then that’s sad. I write a little something about the bookstore and I like every picture of a book cover to that book on the bookstore’s web site itself, so people can buy it. I don’t know that anyone’s done this yet, but I like this part of my newsletter and it’s not likely to change. The notations about the books themselves are typically capsule reviews. I feature three books, usually.

The next section is a relatively recent adjustment. It’s there to provide a little glimpse into my personality. It is Quotidien Object I Love. I pick an everyday object and tell people why I love it. It’s a break from the info-dump a newsletter can be, and it tells my readers a little something about me. This section—the Funny Little Thing About Yi Shun section—was always there, but it was previously an ArtFail. Like, a shit drawing or watercolor. The thing is, that title was mean to be self-deprecating, but I don’t actually believe much art is failure. I think it’s just nice to put pen to paper. So that section wasn’t ringing true at all. Out it went.

The final section is back to business. It’s Where to Find Me, and it tells people about any events I’m appearing at and what I’ve written and published recently. This section serves the obvious function of telling people where to read me and meet me, but it also serves the secondary function of making me feel like I’ve actually done something in the past month.

I used to end with a section called The Last Word, but I like to save things I actually have anything to say about for my actual web site, so I dumped that section too, recently, and just closed with something simple, like “See you next month.”

What am I doing right?

  • I am leaning on the things I like anyway—reading and chattiness and ordinary objects—and this loans the newsletter an element of authenticity.
  • I am trying to provide value, by way of sharing the books I read and the events I’m going to.
  • I am trying to be regular about this newsletter. It is not without fail. But it does appear mostly regularly, and it does get a good number of opens, although that number has been dropping over the months.

What could I be doing better?

  • I would like to provide more value. Maybe something like a writer’s tip or a tip from the editor’s side of the desk, or even a roundup of things I’ve found on the web that I really like.
  • I would like to be more germane to my work. Since I do teach writing for a good chunk of my work, maybe something unique to provide would be an exercise. Or I can draw from my personal desire to see writers draw more lessons from other fields, like business or visual art.
  • I would like to be better about marketing this newsletter overall. Things like tracking the number of opens and dialing in to see what I can do to improve that would be worthwhile uses of my time.
  • I’d like to drive more engagement as a result of, or as content on, this newsletter. Maybe this will take the form of asking more questions and posting people’s answers, or hosting some other more interactive feature.

Now. Here are some newsletters I really like:

  • Aspen Institute’s Five Best Ideas of the day. It is short and sweet and makes me feel smart.
  • Submittable’s Submishmash Weekly. Publishing opportunities and good reading for the week. I get a lot of good out of this one.
  • Erika Dreifus’s The Practicing Writer. Here, too: Useful, concise, and friendly.

I see there are no visual art newsletters that come to mind. This is too bad. Could it be that I am not subscribed to any? Meh. If you think of one you think I’ll like, please let me know in the comments below.

Now. Here are your tips, or rather, some best practices, for starting your own newsletter.

  • Really think about what and who you already do that you can offer via a newsletter. This will add to your enjoyment of the thing. Presumably, you do a thing because you like it; if you make it a component of your newsletter, you get to do this thing at least whenever your newsletter comes out. Really, the reason to do this is because you are what will make your newsletter great, and compelling.
  • Plan your newsletter, each time you write it. Do not do the thing I did for the first year or so where I just willy-nilly sat down and wrote the thing because I was on deadline. Inevitably I’d forget something. Or it would be riddled with typos. Don’t do that.
  • Ask yourself who your target audience is, and what you’d like to accomplish. Friedman’s book has some good ideas for content and some questions you may want to ask yourselves.

Right! That’s enough for this list-heavy, no-graphics-whatsoever post. If you have a newsletter, tell me what the favorite parts of your newsletter are in the comments below!

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Writer, editor, general crazy-pants.

On Word Count: Live-Blogging _The Business of Being a Writer_

This is Part 6 of a multiple-part live-blog of Jane Friedman’s The Business of Being a Writer. Parts 1-5 can be found here.

Writer and editor Jane Friedman believes writing can be a career, and her latest book, The Business of Being a Writer, lays out just what components go into writing as a business. It should resonate with everyone out there who writes or would like to write for a living. It’s my hope that teachers of writing, especially at the MFA level, will also take up this refrain. 

I’m working through Friedman’s book right now, and I am finding places where my own experience either bolsters or informs Friedman’s neat summation and gentle advice. For the duration of my time through this first read of The Business of Being a Writer, I will be posting these experiences for you. I invite you to share widely, and add your own experiences to the comments. Each post will begin with a quote from Friedman’s book, and end with some actionable tips that you can put to work in your own writing career.

“Publishers think about the books they’re considering in terms of word count…The average book in today’s market is 80,000 words…If you have a manuscript that’s between 20,000 and 40,000 words, you haven’t written a book. If it’s fiction, you’ve written a novella.” (The Business of Being a Writer, page 89.)

The agent, whom I already really liked as a person, and whom I really, really wanted to like me, leaned across her wine glass. “I need you to write 6,000 more words,” she said, all wide eyes and guilelessness.

Four and a half years later, I still admire the way she delivered this news. Calmly, evenly, as if there were nothing to these 6,000 more words. I like to think that I reacted with just as much calm and guilelessness, but on the inside, I am pretty sure I was screaming, to paraphrase a friend, “OH SURE LADY I’LL JUST WRITE THOSE WHILE I’M POOPING, SHALL I?”*

What the agent was trying to do was get my book into saleable condition. See, the thing sat neatly at 55,000 words, which is neither novella nor novel.** She knew this was problematic. I was beginning to know it. What I didn’t know was that adding those 6,000 words, which would stretch into 7,000 (about 25, 28 pages), would change some crucial things about the novel. All I could hear was that without these 6,000 more words, this novel would be a no-go.

I had gone to grad school to fix what I knew was a key flaw in my writing. For the longest time, I couldn’t put a solid finger on conflict, and page-turnability. I learned a lot while I was in classes there, but while you can fix a thing academically, you’ll never really know or understand what the solution looks like until you test it in the real world. My thesis, which was the book I was pitching, had passed muster for graduation purposes, but I had queried a number of agents already, and despite high personal response rates to both query letter and sample chapters, I wasn’t getting the solid bites I wanted.

This agent, though, had actionable advice. And it was time for me to put practice to work and get the book into a form an agent could work with.

How was I going to add 6,000 more words, though? Where would I put it? I knew this wasn’t going to be the kind of change that involved more character descriptions here and there, more little personality quirks or long passages of lyrical description of setting. In the first place, my character isn’t the type to wax lyrical for very long, and since the book is told in diary format, that wasn’t going to fly. Second, the character’s a little self-centered, so she wasn’t going to do anything that involved a whole lot of descriptions of other people.

What I ended up doing was introducing a whole new character, an archetypal bad boy for my character to be distracted by. And even though he started out being a distraction, the introduction of this character, just a little less than halfway into the book, had serious ramifications for the rest of the novel.

Most importantly, the addition of this character added depth to my own main character, my protagonist. She was forced to make some choices that didn’t even exist before, thereby granting her an agency she didn’t have before.

And, of course, the addition of this character allowed me to reach the desired word count.

I no longer remember the book as it was without this addition, and I’m reasonably sure I couldn’t stand to look at it if I dug up an old draft.

I didn’t end up going with this agent, but I will always be grateful for the advice she gave me. It may not seem like much, but I’m sure she knew that asking me to add that many more words and pages would force my character into a situation that would give her more to do.

Takeaway tips:

  • Be open to advice from people whose job it is to sell your book. Assume good intention, always.
  • If you ever do find yourself in a position to need to add words, don’t look to tinker. Look to revise.
  • In my editing for clients, I often see a lack of conflict. If you’re looking for places to ramp up the story, look for places where your character lacks agency or where conflict is lacking.

What’s the biggest revision job you’ve had to do? Tell me about it in the comments below.

The next post in this series will occur at the end of next week, as I’m deployed for ShelterBox USA, a disaster-relief agency, for the rest of this week.

*I really, really wish I remember who gave me this line. Whoever you were, thank you.

**I also wish this could be a post on how frustrating it is that there is this weird no-man’s-land between 40,000 words and 60,000 words, where no one actually knows what to call your book in terms of length. Alas, it has no answers in this regard. Sorry.

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Writer, editor, general crazy-pants.

What Do Editors Do, Anyway?

Over at one of my day jobs, I’m the nonfiction editor for the Tahoma Literary Review. I love it to pieces, even if sometimes the work makes my head spin. We read a lot of submissions over there, and we really only get to take a fraction–I do mean a literal fraction–of the work we get. (Over time, it has waffled between five and seven percent for the nonfiction category; in fiction and poetry it’s hovering around one percent.)

I have said this in other places, but I will repeat it here: When I get work from you, I consider it a very big deal. I consider it a gift, in fact. I felt the same when I was editing fiction, but nonfiction carries an added gravitas to me; it’s like we made a bond, the minute you decided to send me your work, because you chose me to tell your story to.

I almost don’t have to say this part, but I want to: When we edit your work, we are doing so because we have think we have found a gem in your piece. There is some other stuff covering it up, so we get out our little excavation brushes and we carefully, gently, work with you to brush some extraneous stuff away. Maybe use some tweezers. So glad we spent all that time playing “Operation” years ago, or in my case, so glad I finally learned to tweeze my eyebrows.

What is this stuff we are editing away, or asking you to add? Sometimes, it’s the language you use to cover up what you really mean. Sometimes, it’s the sweatsuit you put on because you don’t like the lines of your hips. Other times, it’s the TURN LEFT AT ALBUQUERQUE sign you put up for the reader, when really you mean, “Stay with me. Let’s go over here together.”

operation

We are here to help your fine, fine work really sparkle.

Okay. So what is the point of all this? Actually, it’s not the what we do that’s really interesting, it’s the why.

Yesterday, I got an email from a TLR contributor, Chris Arthur. One of his essays, “Glass,” has been listed in the Best American Essays 2016 volume as a “Notable” essay. People, I am chuffed to pieces. I am so pleased for Chris, and proud of the work we did together, and I want to let you know: When you get published? When you feel good about the work we’ve done together? When others recognize the work you’ve done to tell me your story and then polish it to its best possible form?

That’s why we do the work we do. And that’s why, every time something good happens to any TLR contributor, we want to know about it.

blue-tit

(Chris’s wonderful essay is about a blue tit crashing into his window, but it’s about oh, so much more than that. You can read it in TLR’s Vol. 2 No. 2, here.)

 

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Writer, editor, general crazy-pants.