The writer's reality in a new age

Writing life: 35

The fine Canadian writer, Tom Rachman, recently wrote a piece in the Globe and Mail, that, while accurate and familiar in oh so many ways, seemed to strike some writers, me included, as a bit negative—some argued, even whiny. Here’s the piece so you can judge for yourself. Just click on the link or on the image below:

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/opinion/article-confessions-of-a-literary-schlub-promoting-a-book-can-derange-you/

Yes, life is certainly different for writers in the 2020s than it was in the 1970s. And, yes, few would argue that it’s changed for the better.

The loss of so many independent bookstores, the disappearance of literary reviews and coverage in mainstream media (not to mention the disappearance of mainstream media itself), the fierce competition for our attention from the content and devices of the digital world, the serious struggles of, and consolidation in, the publishing sector, the continuing decline in writers’ average income, all against the near cataclysmic backdrop of a stubborn pandemic. It seems like the perfect storm. But it must be said, the rise of social and digital media has also given writers—at every stage—more opportunities to be seen, heard, and read. (Perhaps too many opportunities!)

Tom Rachman ably reports from the front lines on the discouraging, demoralizing, and disillusioning experience of promoting one’s book in this new world. (Frankly, the wonder of getting a book published at all is also a relevant story worth tackling.)

Tom Rachman points to the book signing or book talk where nobody shows up. He goes on to note that writers today are expected “to twist themselves into hucksters, the spokesmodels for their books,” by starting and sustaining a demanding social media content program of sorts, to build an audience and book buzz. He’s right. That is what it’s like for today’s writers. We are living in a new digital world. So?

The Internet and social media have ushered in a new world for writers to navigate.

Yes, I know the world has changed…

Yes, it’s a different—and arguably more difficult—world for writers now than it once was. Most writers today have endured the same experiences Tom writes about. I can put a checkmark against nearly every one of the examples he cites in his Globe article—save for the Caribbean event. (How do I get that gig?) I’ve given plenty of book talks to audiences too small to field a baseball team—for those not interested in baseball, that means fewer than nine people. Many years ago, I delivered a talk supporting my first novel in the big lecture theatre at the main branch of the Ottawa Public Library. It was a cavernous room that likely could have accommodated 250 people. Eight people gazed back at me when I was introduced and took the lectern. Eight people. Then I noticed that half of them were library staff—bless them.

An early book signing at an Ottawa Chapters store. And no, the guy browsing behind me did not buy my book, or even notice me. It was a very long afternoon.

My point—and I do have one, I think—is that regardless of era, writers have had to struggle to write their books, find publishers for them, and then promote them, in the hopes of selling enough copies to be invited to struggle all over again on a next book. Sure the issues were different in the 1950s than they are in the 2020s, but one thing is certain, lamenting the loss of the good old days doesn’t really help your latest literary offering get out of the gate and into readers’ hands.

And since the ancient days when books were first published, writers have always done what we will surely always do, we adapt to new circumstances, new challenges, new threats, new opportunities, and we get on with it. (That, right there, was my point.)

Writers adapt

Upon writing my first novel back in 2005, there was nothing I wanted more than to be a writer, to be published, and to be read. And I was certainly prepared to adapt to the emerging requirements of the literary marketplace to fulfill my dream—still am. Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t always enjoyed meeting every demand of the writer’s life. But if it keeps me living the writer’s life, I’m going to give it a shot. So I did—and do—including podcasting my first novel and giving it away for free on iTunes just to build an audience. I submitted it for the independent book awards (the Ippies) and the Leacock Medal. I reached out the Toronto Public Library to speak at any or all of its 100 branches. I offered to speak at book clubs if they would choose my book. I solicited blurbs from writers and other luminaries residing on loftier planes than I ever will. Yes, it was uncomfortable. For most, self-promotion feels unseemly. But I had to get a toehold in a very competitive market. I had to try new things. I had to adapt.

An intelligent voice from 214 years ago, expressing a timeless message.

Admittedly, and thankfully, by the time my first novel was out, I was in the middle of what had already been a 25-year career in the political-communications-PR-marketing agency world that conveniently helped give me skills and experiences that matched almost perfectly what today’s writers must do to be successful in this digital age. I did a lot of public speaking—and private new business pitching—in my career, and also was required—as my work colleagues were—to immerse myself in the, then fledgling, world of social and digital media, otherwise our communications agency would not have survived. (Fortunately, it’s still chugging along today without me, as I’m now writing full-time.) So I understand that the need to “adapt,” as I blithely put it earlier, may have been easier for me than for other writers who worked in other fields with less overlap in the skills required to make it in the book world today. That was fortuitous for me. But those skills can still be gained by writers and others.

Margaret Atwood supporting her work early in her career, and still promoting a little bit later but using different tools and techniques in the 2020s

Margaret Atwood is a good example of moving with the times—of adapting. Atwood was an early adopter of social media and still uses her channels to keep her readers and followers informed of her comings and goings. She’s a wit on Twitter and has been generous in her support of other aspiring writers, including me a couple times. So kind of her.

How badly do we want to be writers?

With each new obstacle and demand thrown in our paths, I think we writers need to look within ourselves and ask the question: “How badly do we want to be writers?”

Is it worth driving a couple hours to meet with an eight-person book club to discuss your novel that they’ve already bought and read? Is it worth responding generously to readers who are curious about your novel’s backstory, or its themes, or its ending, or its characters, or its editing? Is it worth reading an aspiring writer’s manuscript and, if worthy, giving them a blurb for it? Is it worth, giving a book talk to a seniors’ residence on the outskirts of your city or town, even if you can’t find a bookseller to join you there that night? Is it worth Tweeting, and blogging, and posting on Facebook and Instagram and Substack? The list goes on and on and on.

For me, at least for the last 15 years and the foreseeable future, the answer is clear. Yes, it’s worth it to me. It’s all worth it to me if it helps me be—and stay—a writer. That’s one measure of how important being a writer is to me.

It’s why I podcast my novels in the early days. It’s why I blogged for so many years and maintain a website and this Substack newsletter. It’s why I try to say “yes” when asked to read, and blurb, the novels of writers who are trying to break into this world. It’s why I do at least 100 book talks a year. It’s why I teach creative writing at U of T even when I’m tired at the end of a long day. And it’s why I still post on Facebook and a couple other social channels. I truly believe that all of these efforts and experiences help me be—and stay—a writer. That’s how I’ve adapted to the changes I’ve seen in the 15 years since my first novel hit bookstores in 2008. And, yes, it’s been worth it to me.

A very early book talk in 2008, just before the McClelland & Stewart edition of my debut novel, The Best Laid Plans hit bookstores.

It means that every book talk—whether two people, two dozen, or two hundred show up (okay, two hundred is a rare occurrence)—adds to your collective experience and writing journey. I’m not saying everything you’ll do will always be enjoyable or even useful, but they certainly give you another story to tell. We are storytellers after all.

So, how badly do you want to be a writer?

Over the years, many people have said to me: “I want so badly to be a writer but I just don’t have the time.” Well, the harsh truth is that what they’re really saying is that they don’t yet want to be a writer quite badly enough. That may sound cold and unfeeling, but others in tougher, more demanding, more frenetic, more difficult circumstances, somehow find a way to write on top of it all. The twin pillars of discipline and desire can carry you a long way as a writer.

What do you really want?

It also depends on what you really want. What are your writing goals. Do you want to be published, or do you want to be read, because in many cases, one does not logically follow the other. Being published is hard enough. Being read is even tougher. If your heart is set on being read, then the fact of the matter is, you need a presence—a presence on social media, at book clubs, at festivals, at community organization meetings, and in many other places. You need more than a great book. You need to promote it—and yourself—to realize the full potential of your writing, and to reach the largest audience. Sure, there are exceptions. Once in a while, a blockbuster book, by an unknown writer, hits like a bomb, blowing everyone—critics, journalists, readers, writers—away (forgive the militaristic simile). Okay, I concede. That writer may not need to pound the pavement in the same way. But those books are the rarest of the rare.

Wrapping up (finally)

So, in the face of ever-more demands on writers to do more than just write, what are we going to do, give up? As tempting as that sometimes is, no, I don’t think so. If you really want to be a writer, you adapt. You say “Yes” when that book club invites you to their meeting. You say “Yes” when the seniors’ residence or your local high school calls and asks you to speak. You say “Yes” when a first time writer asks you to read their manuscript—if only because a more established writer said “Yes” when you asked them years earlier. And you work harder doing things you may not love, in service of securing the ever-elusive writing life.

It may mean that to land that literary agent, find a publisher, and keep your newly-minted novel from sinking beneath the waves of obscurity two weeks after its launch—in short, to live the writer’s life in today’s world—you may need to rely on, or develop, skills that writers of earlier generations didn’t need or have. ‘Twas ever thus. Do you think writers of bygone eras didn’t have to adapt to the societal changes prevailing when they broke in? The need to adapt to new realities is a very old story and it will always be with us.

So, sure, by all means, take a brief moment to mark the changes we see around us, to note the passing of how things used to be. But let’s not wallow in our pining for days gone by. Let’s not participate in a protracted “woe is me” jamboree. Good writing and good books seldom emerge from such a place.

You want to be a writer? You want to live the writing life? Figure out what’s required, beyond brilliant writing and storytelling,—better still, look ahead to other changes looming on the horizon—and adapt. That’s the path to the writing life. It always has been.

And thank you, Tom Rachman, for bringing this issue to public notice so that writers and others could thrash it out. I meant it when I said you are a fine writer. I’m looking forward to reading your new novel. In the fall, we’ll both have new books out in the wild. That means more opportunities for us to meet and celebrate and/or commiserate—likely a little of both.

---

Thanks for taking a gander at this post. I hope you’ll consider subscribing and sharing if you haven’t already. It really does help. See you in two weeks.