My new book won’t sell.
Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. A few readers will
buy it, ones like those who’ve kindly endorsed it.* But I’m not expecting it to
attract a huge number of readers.
I expect you’re wondering: Why would I bother writing a book
when I don’t expect to sell many copies? The answer, in part, is that this book
is a “passion project,” one that’s entrenched somewhere deep inside me, one
that I feel compelled to share with however few readers might appreciate it.
Another reason I decided to go ahead with this book is that
I’d already written parts of it, published online at here The Self-Made Writer, my
teaching series for writers, now in its fourth year. Not that you can just push
a button and turn a series of blog posts into a viable book. As with any
meaningful collection, the material needed to be curated, organized, and
amended. It needed revision for voice. It needed new chapters, to fill in the
gaps. It needed cohesion.
In draft, this book was actually incorporated into another
book that came out at the beginning of this year: What Every Author Should Know: No Matter How You Publish. But early
readers suggested that there were really two books—one a comprehensive guide to
publishing and promotion, the other a practical guide to writing books that
rise above the rest.
Here’s the problem: My plan had been to sneak the craft
portion, the part about writing your best book, alongside the part that I knew would
attract the larger audience, the part about how to publish and promote. From
traffic stats at The Self-Made Writer, I knew that page views for posts on
publishing and promotion are on average four times greater than page views for
posts about craft.
That trend is visible all over the web, in chats and on reader
boards, in Google Plus groups and LinkedIn discussions. The MFA crowd aside,
there’s a huge concern with how to get published, and an even huger concern
with how to get your book noticed.
I get that. It’s a confusing time in publishing. There’s a
content flood, so even the most experienced marketing people at long-standing
publishing houses are less certain than ever about how to attract readers for
authors who aren’t flying celebrity class.
Nevertheless, I firmly believe this: Reading
may be a subjective experience, but there are still certain qualities readers
expect of great books, whether they’re fiction or nonfiction. Readers may not
be able to articulate these expectations, but believe me, they have them. If
you want your work to get noticed—if you want to find readers—your writing
needs to rise to the top. Good isn’t good enough. Your work needs to be
exceptional.
No amount of marketing, no amount of agent or
publisher clout, will make readers love a book that’s poorly conceived and
badly written.
And in the changing world of publishing, where who’ll
buy and read your work is in many ways beyond your control, what you can
control is the quality of your work and your efforts to continually improve at it.
If you agree, and you commit to writing your
best book, I believe you’ll gain an advantage in the marketplace by studying how
best books are made and applying those processes to generate your own best
work.
Statistically speaking, however, you won’t do
any of that. If you’re like most authors, you won’t consult my new book, or
other books devoted to helping writers improve their craft. You won’t commit to
writing as a lifelong process of learning.
I don’t begrudge you that. We all have to do
what we have to do. For me, it was writing this book. Even if it won’t sell.
Co-founder of 49 Writers and founder of the
independent authors cooperative Running Fox Books, Deb
Vanasse has authored fifteen
books. Her most recent are Write
Your Best Book, a practical guide to writing books that rise above the
rest; What
Every Author Should Know, a comprehensive guide to book publishing and
promotion; and Cold
Spell, a novel that “captures the harsh beauty of the terrain as well as
the strain of self-doubt and complicated family bonds,” according to Booklist. Deb lives and works as freelance
editor and coach on Hiland Mountain outside of Anchorage, Alaska, and at a cabin near the
Matanuska Glacier.