Writers in the Storm

by Kathy Meis

Much of my workday at Bublish is spent talking with authors about the intersection of creativity and commerce—how to be true to one’s artistic intentions while writing work that is commercially viable.

Early on in these conversations, I encourage authors to take some time to articulate both their artistic and commercial aspirations—no matter where they are in their writing career. To me, this is very important work for all writers to do as early as possible. It’s an exercise that should kick off every writing career and every new writing project.

A writer should ask themselves: Why do I write? Where do I hope this creative journey will take me? And they should be as honest and thorough as possible in answering these questions.

Often I learn that this is the first-time the writer on the other end of the phone has engaged in such self-reflection. Up to our call, they explain, the story has led. They may have a vague sense of what they hope to achieve, but they haven’t taken the time to fully explore their intentions, motivations or desires when it comes to balancing creative and commercial interests. They are simply swimming in story ideas.

Don’t get me wrong, creative immersion can be filled with growth and wonder. It’s a beautiful thing to behold and experience. But over time, it can also be exhausting. A writer can lose his or her moorings. There can be a sense of being adrift and alone.

Riding creative currents is fine for a time...but if an author feels disheartened when a colleague achieves commercial success, it’s probably because they haven’t been completely honest with themselves. They haven’t fairly considered their professional hopes and dreams and what it takes to achieve them. Now, they are drowning in story.

Great writing careers are driven by the author, not the story. By no means does this imply an author has abandoned creativity; they have simply learned to harness it. The creative is in charge, not the creation. There is a big difference. With intentional work, the author has mastered craft and commerce.

Authors who have taken the time to dig deep are often surprised to discover that creativity and commerce are not in conflict, as they might have once thought. Rather, their explorations show them that their creative intentions can be aligned with their commercial goals. Remember, there are no right or wrong answers here, but there are answers. And having defined the terms of a unique, creative endeavor, an author can now confidently make decisions both inside and outside their manuscript.

Questions For Your Creative Journey

What do you really want out of your creative journey? Know your answer. It’s quite liberating.

If you’re comfortable taking the time to answer that question, I have another for you. This one is meant to help you dig a little deeper into your relationship with the commerce side of the equation, because that’s typically where the discomfort is most pronounced.

It might seem like a simple question, but your answer is pivotal to your commercial success, however you define that success. In a marketplace where more than 70,000 new titles are published each month, it’s crucial to be writing for someone. It might be ten readers in your hometown, or thousands of readers that purchase your books online or in bookstores and libraries across the globe. But are you writing for someone other than yourself?

Like you, each reader is an individual with different interests, likes and dislikes. But like all of us, they also yearn for connection through shared stories and ideas.

Do you think of them when you write?

Have you explored their commonalities?

Are you open to engaging with them, learning from them, and building community around your work?

After looking inward to define your relationship with creativity and commerce, try looking outward to learn about your readers. It’s yet another way to align your artistic intentions and professional goals, and will enrich your creative journey immensely. Much joy can be found in writing work that delights others.  

Once you know your readers, it is your promise to them that will become the foundation of your author brand—a much misunderstood term that makes many authors cringe. Authors are told they need a brand to break through the noise in today’s crowded book marketplace. People talk about brands like they are something an author has to put on—like clothes. It can feel forced and lacking in authenticity. But, if done well, nothing could be further from the truth.

Final Thoughts

A powerful author brand is the nexus of an author’s choices about creativity and commerce. An authentic author brand emerges from the work we discussed at the start of this post and continues to evolve through ongoing self-exploration and continuous feedback from an author’s community of readers. That doesn’t sound terrible, does it?

As someone who frequently sees authors struggle with the commercial side of publishing, I encourage you to step away from the writing for a moment and have a frank conversation with yourself.

Ask yourself the hard questions. Define what you want. Come to terms with your creative and commercial desires. Find meaning in the entire journey of publishing and define success in your own terms.

How do you define success in writing? Do you know your audience? Do you personally write with them in mind?

About Kathy

Kathy Meis is the founder of Bublish, the world's first complete publishing platform with built-in marketing. She is an entrepreneur, writer, editor and ghostwriter with more than twenty-five years of experience in the media and publishing industries. She has worked for such iconic editorial brands as CBS and Forbes and served as a founding partner of PubSmart, an author-centric publishing conference held in Charleston, South Carolina. As a frequent blogger and speaker on a wide variety of topics, Kathy has become a sought-after expert on the topic of independent publishing and disruption in the publishing industry. She has spoken at Book Expo America, Women in Media, San Francisco Writers Conference, GrubSteet, and IndieRecon, among others.

By Barbara Linn Probst

Writing a book is hard. So is getting published, and so is achieving success as a writer. If that’s true, then why do we do it?

We may have asked ourselves this question, and others may have asked us. It’s not always an easy question to answer! Our reasons can be complex, difficult to articulate, and uncomfortably personal, making us feel vulnerable and exposed. Yet it’s a question worth asking—especially now, when many of us are struggling to find the energy and motivation to keep going. We read editorials about how important books are right now, and how stories have always been a source of comfort and healing and hope. That’s true—for readers. For writers, it’s more complex.

So I asked fellow writers: Why do you write? And why are you writing this particular book? Their responses, together with my own reflections, point to three primary reasons that I’m calling artistry, identity, and legacy. They’re not mutually exclusive, of course. People can write for more than one reason, or for different reasons at different times. As one person noted: “Sometimes it’s to reach out for connection with others, and sometimes it’s for my eyes only.”  

Artistry: the act of writing

Writing is both art and craft. Like painting, sculpture, or musical composition, writing allows us to create something new; like singing, playing an instrument, or acting, it allows us to express our creativity through a vehicle that someone else has provided. Language, rather than colors or sounds, is our tool.

Writing is art because it can evoke emotions and meanings that go beyond the surface of the words themselves. It’s also craft because it requires skills that have to be learned and practiced. While one can argue that some forms of writing, such as experimental poetry, are art precisely because they reject all conventions, conventions and skills are not the same thing, and I think it’s fair to say that good writing requires the development of skill, in one form or another.

As with all forms of artistic expression, people write because they have something they want to convey—a vision, a passion, a need to give voice, that they can’t quite account for and can’t quite control. One person wrote: “It’s a compulsion, brought on by these characters 'knocking on my imagination's door' screaming to be let out!” Writing is an outlet, a release, an itch that simply must be scratched. The story or characters won’t take no for an answer.

For some, it’s not so much a particular story clamoring to be written as it is the more generic opportunity for self-expression and exploration, “because it's such a thrill to compose and play and weave and see what happens.”

There’s a blend of the personal and the impersonal in the artistic process—the joy of the creative experience (a personal pleasure), and the sense of being a channel or vessel through which a story makes itself known (being “called,” in service of the story).

In short, people write for the meaning they derive from the act of writing.

Identity: the state of being a writer

Being a writer is an identity: it’s who I am (or want to be) and where I belong. “Writing stories is all I've ever wanted to do,” and “It’s just who I am.”  As one person put it: “it just feels like my identity. I know, I know, you're not supposed to BE your work, but I'm not sure how to separate it.”

Others wrote about the experience of community, of finding one’s tribe. “I have met ‘my people’ in the writing community. A joyful side-effect of writing a book!”

Being a member of a community—claiming a place, asserting one’s right to the identity that accompanies membership—can, for some, evoke insecurity as well as connection. Do I have the right to call myself a writer? Am I good enough, as good as the others? Writers, regardless of what they’ve published or accomplished, sometimes speak of what’s called imposter syndrome—feeling unworthy and afraid of revealing one’s inauthenticity. It’s tricky because there’s no objective criterion for calling oneself a writer, no license or test, the way there is for calling oneself a doctor.

For some people, the identity of writer only belongs to those who’ve published. Unpublished writers are apprentices, members-in-waiting, hoping for legitimacy and entrance to the community. This is tricky too. Without a clear and common definition, I may think of myself as a “writer,” though my friends and family don’t. Or it can go the other way, as others urge me to claim an identity that I don’t feel I’ve earned.

It’s interesting to note that there are times when the focus on publication actually detracts from the sense of identity as a writer. One person confessed that, after achieving the longed-for goal of publication, “it took me years to come back to the joy of rediscovering the sacred place of writing.”

In short, people write because it’s a way to embrace an identity.

Legacy: the gift of having written

We write for ourselves, because we must, and we write for others. Although there can be a deep fulfillment in the experience of putting ideas and images into words—an experience that’s complete in itself—most writers do want their work to be read. Writing is restorative, healing, profoundly satisfying. But it’s relational too.

Through writing, we hope to touch others, and to continue to touch them after we’re gone. Whether it’s egoism or simply part of being human, we want to make a difference, to be remembered. Our writing is part of our legacy, stamped with our name.

There can be an impersonal aspect to this, as well—the wish to make sure that the story itself isn’t lost, especially if it’s a story about an individual or group that might not be able to tell it themselves. We can be the one to bear witness or bring a forgotten era to life.

In short, people write because it’s a way to leave something behind.

Final Thoughts

Artistry, identity, legacy, or a combination of all three?  

Whether writing is an item on a late-in-life bucket list, an unfulfilled longing from childhood, or something that’s always been part of our lives—we feel its summons. We need to get the stories out of our heads and onto the page, to reach others and be read. As one person put it, the urgency to write “sometimes scares me and at other times gives me wings.”

For me, personally, artistry and legacy are the strongest motives.  I love the process and want to give back to others in a meaningful, enduring way.

What about you? Why do you write? Please share with us down in the comments!

About Barbara

Barbara Linn Probst is the author of much-anticipated Queen of the Owls, published by the visionary, award-winning She Writes Press. Queen of the Owls has been chosen by Working Mother as one of the twenty most anticipated books for 2020 and is the May 2020 selection of the Pulpwood Queens, a network of more than 780 book clubs throughout the U.S. To order or learn more, please visit http://www.barbaralinnprobst.com/.

A chance meeting with a charismatic photographer will forever change Elizabeth’s life. How much is Elizabeth willing to risk to be truly seen and known?

Click here to read more or to order the book.

Top Photo Image by Arek Socha from Pixabay

by John Peragine

I often ponder what types of books and genres I can write. There are many genres I enjoy reading, but can I write in them? Do I have the knowledge to be able to write about subjects I've read about, where I lack any related life experience? What limits does my experience place on my writing?

As a ghostwriter, I steer toward book genres and subjects I am familiar with. I avoid projects in very technical areas like deep finance or medical research, as I don't have a working knowledge of those subjects. I'd be limping along to try to write them. Ghostwriting is about getting into the person's head and bringing out their story, but I must still step into their experience to make it real on the page. Sometimes, I just can't.

I believe anything is possible, but not everything is probable. It is improbable that, in my current lifetime, I can do justice to some specific genres.

Stepping Into New Genres and Niches

There are all sorts of interesting genres out there. Some of them, like Romance, are even lucrative. And while I've said a few romantic lines in my life, I couldn't even begin to touch that genre. It would take an extraordinary amount of time for me to even figure out what would qualify as romance.

On the other hand, I recently obtained my real estate degree. When I applied this knowledge to my writing, I started with the area I knew the most about: my own backyard. By combining my limited experience as a real estate agent with my existing knowledge of wine and vineyards, I was able to talk confidently about backyard vineyards. Previously, I wouldn't have even considered writing about real estate.

The article: https://www.realtor.com/advice/home-improvement/i-grew-a-vineyard-in-my-backyard/

There is a difference between book knowledge and experiential knowledge.

Most people are not immediately ready to be professional in their chosen field after high school, or even college. Doctors struggle through years of internships and residencies before they are prepared to hold their own as a board-certified physician. They spend even longer before they are ready to do surgery.

When I was a social worker, and I knocked on a person’s door after receiving a report of child abuse or neglect, I was invariably asked: are you a parent? The common thought was that if I'd never experienced being a parent, then how could I have the audacity to talk to the person on the other side of the door about parenting? They were probably right. My world, my ideas, and my values all shifted when I became a parent.

Writing requires that we step into experiences we can only imagine.

Can I do justice to a teenage girl dealing with heartbreak? Can I step into the mind space of a high powered trial lawyer facing billion dollar corruption across the courtroom (when my only experience in court was for a traffic ticket)?

As writers, we try to pull off situations like these and more. Are there ways to make it easier?

Short stories are one way to do this.

In the past year, I have challenged myself by entering into the various short story contests offered through NYC Midnight.

What I really love about these competitions is that they assign you a random genre, with a few story elements thrown in. You might be assigned everything from a thriller to a Rom-Com, and then have two days to write a complete story about it.

Competitions like this have helped me in two ways:

• They required that I step outside of my comfort zone.
• They've helped me make a list of genres I was rotten at, and now I know those genres are not for me.

Experience and Knowledge Can Fade

At fifty, I feel I have the gift of long sight. But much like my current eyeglass subscription, even though I can see things in the distance, they are a little hazy and challenging to make out. Sometimes I have to squint and move my glasses around to see clearly.

The same is true when I write about people younger than me. I was a child, a teen, a person in their 20s or 30s. I remember scenes and experiences from those periods of my life, but there are huge gaps. While I remember the highlights of my first crush, I have to dig to put to words those feelings. Those feelings were knotted inside a twisty ball of emotions, but some of the sensory details are still crystal clear.

When I write a teenager or a child into a story, it's often a stretch to remember what that experience was like. The further back I go back in time, the tougher this process can be.

The wisdom that comes with age doesn't always make us wiser on a subject.

Those early experiences embed inside our psyches, and create the beautifully flawed individuals we become. Those early experiences make us who we are. And no matter how accomplished we are as writers, to a certain extent, we are all confined by those experiences.

My advice to new writers

Our understanding of the world is influenced by the writers who came before us. We can speculate on what a world looks like, how a ship flies, or which magic an elf possesses, but these speculations are often fueled by the stories of writers who came before us.

I recommend to new writers that they make it a practice to read all kinds of books. Good books, bad books, books they must hide under the bed, and books that are better off being used to start a fire. Reading is experiential learning to which there is no substitute.

Understanding concepts like the hero's journey, described by Joseph Campbell, is vital because it permeates the marrow of most stories whether they're fantasy or romance or science fiction.

We are limited by what we know. This is why it's crucial to read widely in the genre we choose to write in. Each genre has mechanisms, expectations and specific mechanics. To get better at a genre you are less familiar with, first read widely and then just start writing. Practice. Write short stories.

Practice, and then practice some more.

As an example, from an early age I studied playing the flute. I took lessons and practiced for years until the process of playing became muscle memory. Although I haven't picked up my flute in a few years, I'd wager the memories would surface quickly, and I could play it without completely starting over the learning process.

I am a good musician, but that doesn't mean I am great at all music. There are styles I am better at than others, usually influenced by listening to and studying a lot of music I liked. I can play the hell out of symphony but can't swing a beat to save my life. I can confidently say: all the practice in the world won't make me a great jazz musician.

Great writing requires practice. A lot of practice. Write, edit, show, toss, rinse, wash, and repeat.

Pick a genre you are passionate about because writing practice is often tough and monotonous until those great writing skills develop. Half-baked writing results in half-baked books: often gooey and not very appealing.

Writing What You Know

Probabilities are odds, and I am always looking for ways to improve the odds. This requires honest conversations with myself. Can I write a thriller based on a spy from China? Do I know what being a spy is? Do I know the culture well enough not to make people angry with stereotypical flat characters?

There are things we know, things we can learn, and things we will never figure out. This sort of knowledge helps us do three things:

1. We know which genres would take us the longest to learn. This knowledge may determine whether pursuit of that genre would provide a diminished return.
2. We know our strengths. You know where you are an expert, with knowledge you can confidently weave into any story. For me, that is music, gardening, herbs, social work, psychology, and the application and removal of clown makeup. Try to incorporate these areas of expertise in the stories you write.
3. We know which topics we want to learn more about. Research is often fun, and a potential rabbit hole if we don’t manage our time. Online research, books, subject matter expert interviews, and instructional videos are all available to us. (Masterclass.com and Writersdigest.com are a couple of my favorite resources).

Open Your World

Sitting in front of a computer or entering a classroom doesn’t bring us any closer to having real-life experiences to draw on when we're writing. Go live life.

Even in these crazy times, we can find ways to make connections with others and visit new places. The more we experience life, the more neural connections that are made in our brain, which makes us more brilliant in our writing.

Be brilliant, my friends!

What topics or skills do you know really well? What do you want to know more about? What is one thing you can do today to increase your life experiences?

About John

John Peragine has published 14 books and ghostwritten more than 100 others. He is a contributor for HuffPost, Reuters, and The Today Show. He covered the John Edwards trial exclusively for Bloomberg News and The New York Times. He has written for Wine Enthusiast, Grapevine Magazine, Realtor.com, WineMakermagazine, and Writer's Digest.

John began writing professionally in 2007, after working 13 years in social work and as the piccolo player for the Western Piedmont Symphony for over 25 years. Peragine is a member of the American Society of Journalists and Authors. His newest book, Max and the Spice Thieves, will be released this Fall.