Vintage Links from the To-Read Folder: Word Counts, YA Editors; My Little Pony; Book Tours

Readers love to talk about the piles of unread books they’ve been accumulating over the years, breaking out plans to put a dent in the pile if only so they can justify purchasing new books to fill the gap. We can take a certain pleasure in what that unread book signifies, in both the look at all the pleasures that await me when I have time sense and the behold my default state of busy sense.

We tend to be a bit quieter about the unread piles of links and bookmarks we accumulate, unless someone looks over our shoulders and spots a massive pile of unread tabs. Or, in my case, taps the “To Read” folder in my bookmarks bar and gets assaulted by the 300+ blog posts I’ve stored there to engage with later.

Lots of these were put there during my days with the writers centre, flagging resources I might want to come back to later or could be useful when answering a particular call. Others were just me flagging stuff I wanted to read outside of work hours, which I never got around to because I didn’t prioritise such things.

Today, I’m diving into the archive of unread links and picking four to share with you, post about, and then delete from my list forever. Join me as I put a dent into the pile. 

Her Stinging Critiques Propel Young Adult Bestsellers (New York Times, 2015) 

Read the full article at the New York Times (if you’ve got enough free articles left this month)

In the cosseted world of children’s book publishing, getting an editorial letter from Ms. Strauss-Gabel, the publisher of Dutton Children’s Books, is the literary equivalent of winning a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. It virtually guarantees critical or commercial success, and often brings both.

A few years back the New York Times did a profile on  Julie Strauss-Gabel, one of the top editors in the YA genre who has been associated with a number of hit novels. It’s the kind of thing that would get shared around our offices at the time—the staff was full of YA fans and we were all talking to people about writing, editing, and publishing on a daily basis. I remember flagging it because it was about the kind of editorial relationships lots of writers hope for in the traditional scene—an ongoing, developmental partnerships—and it talks about exactly how rare those relationship are in modern publishing. 

How To Plan Your Own Book Tour (Bill Ferris @ Writer Unboxed, 2015)

Read the full article at Writer Unboxed.

They say book tours don’t sell books. In fact, they can actually cost authors a lot of money. So why bother? Well, you’re making connections with readers and building your brand and a bunch of other slick-sounding, unquantifiable marketing-speak. If you want to be a big-shot author, you need to act the part, and that means taking your show on the road. Think of a book tour as a tax-write-off-able vacation where people tell you how awesome you are every night.

Book tours are one of those legacy promotional vehicles from the days before the internet, a method of connecting readers with their favourite authors in a world where you couldn’t just tweet Neil Gaiman about how much you loved one of his books. Like book launches, they hold a particular place in aspiring author’s hearts—people would ask about organising tours and book launches on a weekly basis, usually hoping for some magic thing that would transform their book-that-is-doing-okay into a book-that-is-wildly-successful.

Like many things in writing, the dream is predicated on an American vision of bookselling, where you’ve got a population pretty evently distrubited around the country and biggish cities throughout. Australia is big and empty, which means a local tour involves travelling long distances for a handful of stops.

Within this understanding, I remember thinking that Ferris’ post was remarkably clear-sighted and useful, so I flagged it as a resource to direct people towards when they were insistent that their tour would be different and they’d recoup the expenditure through sales.

Welcome to the Heard: A Feminist Watches My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic (Global Comment, 2011)

Read the full editorial at Global Comment

There’s a lot going on with MLP:FiM, including a sizable adult male viewership (of which, more later), but the most important thing to me about the show is this: it presents a world in which the normative position is female.

I found myself watching the first seasons of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic with my flatmate back in 2012. Initially, it caught me with a joke about Buzzards that Really Buzz, then followed it up with Fluttershy singing like Barry White, but the thing that kept me watching was decentreing of the male point of view and the focus on friendship. Like another favourite show in recent years—Supergirl—it focused on conflicts and resolutions that were meaningful and decidedly fresh, coupled with some particularly smart writing.

That said, I kinda wish this post were longer and went into its points in more depth, particularly revisiting it many years after it was first written. 

The Daily Word Count of 39 Famous Writers (Writers Write, 2015) 

Read the full post at Writers Write.

Two nice things this post does: first, it appends a quote about writing to the word counts for each of the authors they’re focusing on; second, it’s listing all these numbers with a point:

Creating a habit of writing – even if what you are writing is not good – is vital.

The word count, going by the varied targets of the wildly successful authors on their list, is not. Although I am surprised at the number of people who aim for 1,000 words, rather than the highly touted (and occasionally problematic) 2,000 that people start aiming for after they read On Writing

Daemon Voices

DAEMON VOICES: ESSAYS ON STORYTELLING is a collection of Phillip Pullman’s writing on the subjects of writing and writers. I was tempted by this collection despite never having read Pullman’s fiction–in my head, he’s catalogued as that guy who wrote the YA novel that was turned into the film with the polar bears. I haven’t even seen the film, but the visual of the polar bears has been stuck in my skull for a decade now. 

I have friends who are huge fans of Pullman’s Dark Materials books, though, and the first essay in the collection was more than enough to convince me it was worth ponying up the cash. The essay, Magic Carpets, details the responsibilities Pullman feels as a storyteller. He leads off with something unexpected: your first responsibility is financial. Like every other member of a capitalist society, you need money to support your loved ones.  

When we start writing books we’re all poor; we all have to do another job in the daytime and write at night; and, frankly, it’s not as romantic as it seems to those who aren’t doing it. Worry –constant low-level unremitting anxiety about bank statements and mortgages and bills –is not a good state of mind to write in. I’ve done it. It drains your energy; it distracts you; it weakens your concentration. The only good thing about being poor and obscure is the obscurity –just as the only trouble with being rich and famous is the fame.

But if we find we can make money by writing books, by telling stories, we have the responsibility – the responsibility to our families, and those we look after – of doing it as well and as profitably as we can. Here’s a useful piece of advice to young writers: cultivate a reputation – which need have no basis in reality – but cultivate a reputation of being very fond of money. If the people you have to deal with think that you like the folding stuff a great deal, they’ll think twice before they offer you very small amounts of it. What’s more, by expecting to get paid properly for the work we do, we’re helping our fellow writers in their subsequent dealings with schools, or festivals, or prisons, or whatever. I feel not a flicker of shame about declaring that I want as much money for my work as I can get. But, of course, what that money is buying, what it’s for, is security, and space, and peace and quiet, and time.

Pullman, Philip. Daemon Voices: Essays on Storytelling. 

As distillations of the tension between art and commerce go, this is one of the best. While I don’t agree with Pullman on every aspect of storytelling, he starts strong and the collection is worth checking out. 

Friends Only

In Winifred Gallagher’s Rapt, she talks about focus as a means of overcoming our instinctual fear. We read books and plug into phones on public transport to tamp down on the fear that we’re travelling alongside strangers, a source of physical danger and possible contamination as flu season begins. We set aside places like bathrooms and kitchens where unclean tasks are attended too, allowing us to set aside the fears of and rituals to prevent contamination unless we’re in that room.

Then someone using the public restroom forgets to flush their floater. The ritual of the bathroom is broken, and your attention is drawn to all those fears you’re subconsciously setting aside. You are reminded that the room is a place of pollution, for all that we try to keep it clean and wash our hands before leaving.

Social spaces used to have conventions that help us set aside our fear of other people. We behaved professionally in the work space, limited what we talked about. We had a party persona, a friends persona, and one for family. Then someone broke those conventions – talked politics at a party, or made threats in a professional setting – and our attention returned to the fundamental fact that we are surrounded by strangers. Strangers who may not think as we do. Strangers who may be a threat to us.

The great advantage of social media was the way it connected everyone. The great flaw was the fact that so few people recognised what those conventions in social spaces meant. That all those things we never talked about in polite conversation were constantly in one-another’s face the moment we clicked “friend.”

Your colleagues and casual acquaintances set up camp in your lounge room, where you used to relax. People you got on with, in certain contexts, were revealed to be more complex and nuanced. People talked about work on your day off. We all revealed things, by accident, that were once kept to close friends. Certain views, once held in private, grew vehement when out in public. Disagreement felt more and more like attack, because there was no place to hide from it. Friendships and acquaintances were constantly in review for potential threats and allegiances, buoyed on a stream of rich, new information.

We all joke that SOMEONE IS WRONG ON THE INTERNET, but how can we not feel the instinct to argue? Our attention has just been drawn to our differences, day after day after day.