January 16th, 2020
Based on real life
I rarely create a character by simply attempting to describe a person I know in real life and have them act on the page. Sometimes I will take single facts or idiosyncrasies about real individuals and collage them onto a largely imaginary character that I’ve created, but rarely just a whole person transposed from the world into a book. In fact, you could say I’ve never done it, because the only people I’ve attempted to import to fiction as themselves are people I barely know and find bizarre or incomprehensible in real life, so I write them to supply them with the motivations and inner life in fiction that I’ve been so longing to know in reality. It’s almost impossible anyone I’ve ever done this with would recognize themselves in the stories, which is why I feel comfortable with it–and yet satisfied that I’ve told myself (and others) a story that makes enough sense so I can stop worrying about the real people that inspired it, though my stories undoubtedly have nothing to with them.
This is all a long way of saying I ran into one such person yesterday, waiting for an elevator. This has actually never happened before! I took me a minute to realize why I was having such a visceral reaction to a fellow chilly, early-morning soul in the grey foyer–and then I remembered. She didn’t seem to recognize me, which is an advantage of years and reconstructive jaw surgery, but as I say, we never knew each other much to start with. But she was uncomfortable with something, whether it was the vague sense she knew me from somewhere or that I was hiding my interest in her face–the lines on her face, which weren’t there before–less well than I meant to.
Almost definitely the latter. She hadn’t gone on in the life I imagined for the character, I could tell by her sweater–disappointing but a natural consequence of fiction. After we got off the elevator, we waited in the same line for a moment, and then she sped off and I’m sure was glad to leave me and my greedy curiosity behind. I could google–everyone’s google-able, and I actually have done this for her in the past–or if I worked hard enough I could maybe think of a mutual friend somewhere and try to work her name into the conversation, see what comes up.
I don’t think I’ll do those things–the temptation is there, but what purpose would it serve? The character got a spark from the person once, but at this point the two flames burn entirely separately.
January 14th, 2020
On calling myself a writer
There’s plenty of posts and articles and little essays out there with titles similar to this one and for years I was a bit dismissive of them. They are usually written by folks at the beginning of their writing careers with little or perhaps nothing published, wondering when they will earn the title. My dismissal comes from my assumption that the title is irrelevant–writers write, so write. People will call you what they call you, or not. What you do matters more than what you’re called.
Which remains true. And yet…
I realized recently, I don’t think I’ve actually ever introduced myself as a writer, really. I’m either at an event where everyone’s a writer or everyone knows I’m a writer–a festival, a reading, a writing group–or I’m at work or a work-related event, where I’m known by a completely different title and writing rarely comes up even if some of my coworkers are also aware of the writing thing, or I’m out with friends and I let them introduce me as they will. If no one introduces me, I actually usually default to just my job as what I “do.” I don’t default to writing because…well, if I’m honest it’s because I don’t make a living at it. A few times recently, someone else has presented me as a writer that first inevitably led to questions about how I structure my days, which is around my job, which is disappointing to an interlocutor who maybe was just imagining me writing glorious fictions all day. Or so I imagine. So I just don’t start it.
Is this really sad, for someone with three books and some modest success? Very very occasionally–but more often lately–I’m not at work or a writing event, and there’s no friend or acquaintance to introduce me. For all anyone knows, I’m an accountant or a seamstress or a mob enforcer, and though honestly it’s rare that anyone’s really shown any curiosity about me at all, at some point there’s going to be awkward small talk and someone will ask me what I do and then what will I say?
Nothing. Anything. It doesn’t matter. Mob enforcer. It remains as true as it always was that what I do is more important than what I call myself but it does seem odd and somewhat disappointing that so far down the line into a career that’s beyond my wildest dreams I still don’t feel comfortable presenting it to strangers.
You know, I wanted to write this as a piece of introspection, a way of exploring what flaw in me keeps me from feeling comfortable with this aspect of myself but 463 words in, I have come to a surprising conclusion: this is other people’s faults! I didn’t expect to end up here, but here we are: it can very unpleasant to tell other people I write books. There is, per above, the expectation that if I were a real writer, I would be writing those books between 9-5 Monday to Friday and I’m not doing that, so I can’t, like, prove I’m the real deal or anything.
No, I can. But social norms seem to indicate I should shrug and let my fellow party guests assume I self-published some sort of illustrated diary about my cats instead of just getting out my phone to google the glowing reviews in national papers or the author page on a major publisher’s website or the award nom. Because that sounds monstrous, right? And besides, no one asks that of dentists. If you tell me at a party you have a dental practice uptown, I don’t assume you’re deluded and ask leading questions about your licensing exam. And honestly, if you were still in dental school and studying and working towards eventual success but not quite there yet, what business would it be of mine?
So yeah, I’m a writer, but sometimes people are mean to writers so if you seem like you might be mean to me I won’t tell you. I will tell you I am a production project manager, which I also am, but no one knows what that is, so for some reason, it sounds truer.
I started writing this piece feeling a bit bad about being such a meek little flower, but it turns out I have WELL-FOUNDED FEARS. So there, world!
PS–I wrote this post about a year and a half ago but somehow things lurk in my drafts folder and never get posted. Since I wrote it, I have largely stopped telling new people about the writing, and since I’m not publishing at all lately, they mainly don’t find out. It’s great! A good decision–really frees me up from a lot of bad feelings and awkwardness! Although, one time, a newish acquaintance whom I quite like asked me a lot of questions about my life and I did tell her–she seemed so genuinely interested–and she was overwhelmed with glee. It was actually moving, how happy she was for me that I’d achieved this thing. The next time I saw her, she’d ordered one of my books from the library. Honestly, I completely understand why that’s not the usual reaction but it is so nice that it happens once in a while.
January 9th, 2020
2019 in review, and 2020 in …preview?
This (now that, I suppose–I started writing this when it was still 2019, but now it isn’t) was a weird year. I liked it! It was challenging. I did not write as much as I wanted to, I didn’t travel much, I maybe saw fewer people than I wanted, but I also did more new things, more hard things than in many previous years, and also did more good for others and the world than I have in a while–and that was great for me ironically. You can sort of see me hinting at this plan to do more good and less navel-gazing in the second half of my birthday post. That’s what all the more awareness of death and the news, more willingness to own my privilege and try to give in accordance to what i know I have was about. What I meant was that I was going back to volunteer work, something I did seriously for years when I was younger and then stopped nearly cold turkey as I got into my thirties.
But I didn’t come right out and say what I wanted to do in the post, in case I wound up not doing it–I make a lot of resolutions and only follow through on a fraction–but then, I did! I started tentatively volunteering with a climate change activism group and it made me feel so. much. better. about things. I do believe the world is burning–it IS burning–and it makes me panic. But there are better things to do than panic and it makes me feel better to do them. It makes me feel hopeful. At least about myself and my capacity to grow and change, but also maybe about human beings and OUR capacity to grow and do more and help where help is needed–and save the world? Well yes–I am hopeful.
Also, in my forties, it’s just great and enlivening to do a new thing. I don’t mean to trivialize the act of fighting the climate crisis but if it can ALSO be a spur to be out in the world, having new experiences, meeting different kinds of people, putting different skills to use, so much the better. And I learned so much–so so much, in six month including, always, how much I have yet to learn. Intersectionality is just a word, until you try to actually intersect. I have long ways to go, but at least I’m going.
What else should a person who is very concerned about about how long the earth will be viable do but make the most of every single second I have here? This year I protested for the earth, I walked into traffic, I lay down in the street, but I also protested for trans rights, I marched in the women’s march in the freezing cold, I gave blood, I gave money to causes that are important to me, I bought less and thought hard about what I did buy, I thought about what I ate and wore and drove, I was SO awkward and weird when I spoke to so many people, but I also made an effort not to focus on how self-conscious I feel all f*cking time but to look around the room and see who else feels uncomfortable and talk to them. It didn’t always work–it sometimes worked.
I read a lot, but less than I have some other years. I started an Indigenous Authors bookclub at work, and it has really helped me to have a place to go to talk about this world of books I’m just starting to explore.
I screwed up a few times on work stuff and life stuff. I learned a long time ago that no excuse is as good as “I’m sorry”–that’s not a new lesson for me–but somehow, I still need to keep learning it.
We got rid of our car and I do miss it, despite not really needing a car or liking to drive.
Moving forward into 2020, which I keep calling “the year of perfect vision,” which is surprisingly not catching on…
I developed a serious punctuality problem in 2019–I’m not sure where that came from, as I’ve always been fairly punctual, but instead of analyzing it I’m just going to start getting up earlier every damn day and leaving the house earlier for most events.
I also had a tonne of dental problems in 2019, which the dentist said might be remedied by giving up my one vice, pop! Everyone is always cheerfully saying they will be enjoying their red wine and weed gummies but Diet Pepsi is the devil, which seems unfair. Nevertheless, fine, I’m going to try to titrate off pop again, although that hasn’t historically gone well. I’m just going back to coffee as a source of caffeine, so don’t get too excited.
In 2019, I invested too much time in people who aren’t very interested in me. There’s being nice–I always want to be nice–but I don’t have to expend energy trying to help folks remember to show up for stuff they’ve said they “want” to do but never show for. This is an endlessly hard lesson for me to learn. In 2020, I want to back off saying yes just because someone wants me to–or simply because I hate to say no–and concentrate more energy on the best people and projects.
I would like to write more, and in a more focused, systematic way. 2020 will be the 4th year of my creative life I spend on a project that still has no contract or editor, and no ending. If I can’t come to some conclusion about how to finish it by the end of the year, the problem is either me or the book, but either way, one of us has got to go.
I would like to finally send off my files to the archive that actually wants them, which is a huge honour that I have been ducking like a lunatic.
There’s probably more–there’s always more–but I’ll run away from the temptation to make this into a list of all my flaws and just say, I wish us all a healthy, happy, and adventurous 2020. Thanks for reading.
December 5th, 2019
Heritable Privilege or, the Story of My Futon
Yeah, so I didn’t post for six months and I also did not finish my novel, but SURPRISE, I did try to finish my novel and this at least resulted in my thinking a lot about it.
One of the things the book is about is inheritance, in a more literal fashion than novels tend to take on this topic–what does inherited wealth and attitudes towards wealth look like and what happens when there isn’t any? (it’s actually kind of a funny novel, I swear–this is only a small aspect of it!) A way I work on fiction, and probably one of the reasons why it takes forever, is to look at what my characters are going through and try to see how that same issue is played out in my own life, or how it could be–is that autobiographical writing or the exact opposite of autobiographical writing???? I don’t know.
SO one thing I’ve been looking at is thrift. I am extremely thrifty–I am organized and responsible about money and I like to save, sometimes to a silly degree. I have the time and energy to invest in thriftiness almost like a mini-hobby, which is of course the result of middle-class privilege. People who are in more precarious financial situations do no have the time or focus to work on getting the best possible deals or finding a way to do without certain costs by putting in time or energy. I’ve become increasingly aware as adult that my ways of saving money are the result of having a bit of it to start with.
A very simple example of this sort of thing is insurance premiums and deductibles. With most insurance plans, what portion of any insured cost (say, damages from a car accident) I would have to pay (the deductible) is determined by how much my monthly payment is (the premium). So if I can pay only $100 a month, my deductible might be the first $1000 of any repair costs, but if I am willing to pay $150 a month, maybe the deductible would only be $500 (these numbers are pretty random, I’m not an actuary–it’s just an example). Basically, if I can float a bit more on the monthly cost, I can prevent a giant emergency cost down the road. Who can afford that? Not everyone.
But all insurance is a gamble, and this is strictly a dollars game–I wanted a richer example that’s more about inherited privilege and family support. Here is something I remembered from my own life, which I think demonstrates what I’m driving at a little better:
When I was in first-year university, I lived in residence but in second year I moved into an apartment with three friends–cheaper, more freedom, more fun. My parents helped me get some furniture before the semester started and instead of a bed I asked for a futon. That way I could have both a bed and a couch for the price of one! I also asked for a slightly nicer futon–I remember the bottom-of-the-line futon and frame cost about $250 and mine was over $300, because I wanted it to last a long time. I was able to do this, of course, because my parents bought it for me, helped me transport it to my apartment, and set it up.
Then it was my bed/couch for three years, until I left Montreal, and here is where the story gets a little extra. When I moved back to Ontario, I opened the phonebook and found a mover to ship all my battered university girl sh*t back home for me. I had too much stuff for anyone to take it in a car but not really an entire moving van’s worth of stuff, and anyway, no one wanted to drive it for me. Most people I know who left the city sold all their stuff they couldn’t carry for a few bucks or just gave it to friends who were staying or left it on the street on moving day for whoever wanted it.
Not me! I shipped a used dresser I had bought for $20 and which had the date 1984 painted on it, my kitchen table and chairs, several bookcases, lamps, all my kitchen stuff, a coffee table, even my broom and mop, a tv, and yes, that futon. All this cost me several hundred dollars, which was probably far more than the street value of the contents of the load but crucially, would be far far less than it would cost to buy it all again, not to mention the time and effort associated with doing so.
Obviously, I took money from my parents to do this, since I was unemployed at the time, and then I stored all that stuff in their garage for months while they parked their car in the driveway and I looked for a job and we all studiously avoided talking about where this situation was leading. Then eventually I did get a job (two actually) in Toronto and I lined up an apartment I could pretty much pay for and my parents took my stuff out of their garage and drove it to me in their station wagon a little bit at a time until I was reunited with all my belongings and became what we all pretend to understand as an independent woman, since I stopped living with or taking money from parents at that point.
But hahaha, right? Sure, I was working and paying for my own apartment but my apartment was full of furniture my parents had helped me buy and assemble and ship from another province and store and then brought to me??!?! Also through it all, I had tonnes of emotional support and encouragement and cheerleading, which is another kind of privilege. I should point out, the employment situation I moved to Toronto for was fairly precarious, and someone from a less privileged and supportive background, someone who didn’t know she was free to fail and retreat to her childhood home might never have tried it in the first place–and I wound up with a fairly awesome career because I did try and persisted trying. Hmmm…
And that futon persisted too! I’m not sure at what point this moves from being an interesting point about inherited privilege to a sad story about a woman who lives with all her furniture from the 90s, but here is the rest of the history of that futon: It was my bed and my couch in my first, bachelor apartment in Toronto, and then graduated to being my couch in the living room of my one-bedroom, and it is now that couch in my home office. I sleep on it occasionally, if I’m sick and too cough-y to be pleasant company in the marital bed, and it’s definitely not what it once was, but it’s still comfortable enough for a decent night’s sleep, and allows me to be reasonably hospitable to others when they need a place to crash. FYI!
It’s also the reason I didn’t by my first actual non-futon couch until I was 35 (when Mark and I moved in together, he had one, but then the cats destroyed it). I guess I have low standards and don’t necessarily get charmed by new stuff unless the old stuff has disintegrated, but of the things that were in that moving truck in 2001, I kept the bookcases, the microwave, and cutlery until I moved in with Mark in 2011, and I still have 1.5 of the lamps (1.5 broke along the way), the shoe rack, the coffee table, the kitchen table, two chairs, many books, a plastic cupboard, and the futon.
I’d say I got my money’s worth. Which in itself is an interesting expression, isn’t it?
June 17th, 2019
The House I Grew Up In
I bought a new phone last weekend and the people at the phone store wouldn’t wipe the old one until I checked it to make sure there was nothing on it I wanted, even though I insisted there wasn’t–I guess they’d had some run-ins in the past! And when I downloaded everything off it at home, it turned out there were a few photos I guess I took in a panic the last day in the house I grew up in, which may well have been Father’s Day 2017, shortly after my dad died. You can tell I was a bit alarmed because of the finger in the first one:
Ok, now I can junk the phone. I won’t miss it. Of course, there was a time when I thought I wouldn’t miss that house either, but now I do.
May 31st, 2019
Learning Things in My Forties
1) My senses haven’t dulled–or at least, not all of them. My taste and touch senses are about as sharp as ever, and my already terrible vision is not noticeably worse. BUT my ability to hear and smell things have gone through the roof. So this is why old people don’t like rock and roll–it IS too loud. Everything is too loud. Noises that I think are also too loud that other people do not even acknowledge are noises at all include the internet router, pop bubbles bursting in a glass, the overuse of toilet paper by people in other stalls in public washrooms (I apologize for the image but omg–I know too much), and the twisting of a lid on a pen. Also many things are too strongly scented–almost anything that is artificially scented, actually. I can’t even walk down the cleaning products aisle at the grocery store anymore–Mark has to get the detergent. There’s a whole dollar store in Scarborough I won’t go into because they use some terrible air freshener in there. (I still like rock and roll, though.)
2) Things hurt more, but not enough for me to do anything about it. I have definitely reached the age of random aches and pains, but not the age of caring about them very much. Like, sometimes my knee or my stomach will hurt for a couple days, and I’ll wonder why, and then it’ll go away and I’ll be like–great–and not think about it anymore. It’s possible this would derail me more if my body had heretofore been in perfect working order, but since I’ve generally been used to having some sort of ailment, throwing in a few more inexplicable ones doesn’t bug me much. I can also still do what I want–run around, sit on the floor, take ballet classes–so my body is giving me what I want it to. There could definitely come a time when it doesn’t. I am watchful.
3) I no longer think people are that paying so much attention to me. Many years ago, my old friend John said, “Self-consciousness is still self-absorption.” At the time I boggled at how insightful that was, but it has taken me a long time to fully internalize it–I’m still not sure if I quite have, but I’m getting there. Certainly, if I wear weird shoes or make an odd face in a photo or fail to turn up at an event for someone I don’t really know, I no longer assume that everyone is criticizing me because that would imply everyone is thinking about me, and why would they do that? I’m just not that important. It has really been immensely freeing to realize that I am not at the centre of most people’s thoughts most of the time. However, I have learned the hard way that this is a lesson that everyone comes to in their own time–if a friend is fretting endlessly about what to wear to a party, “What makes you think everyone is going to be looking at you?” is not an immensely helpful thing to say.
4) Impostor syndrome remains, but its hold is weakening because I have precedent. To be honest, I still believe I’m going to fail at most things most of the time. It’s not a conscious thought, just a background burble of “You suck, every time you haven’t sucked was a fluke or a lie” that I don’t really think about. However, when I’m actually trying to consider/plan what i really can and cannot do, I drag those thoughts out into the light and examine them. I also hold them against years of so-called flukes–my nearly 20-year career in publishing, my three books, my lifetime of mainly walking down stairs without falling. And because this history is–at 41–so considerable, it starts to constitute something somewhat like proof. At the very least, I feel that if the catastrophic failure I fear comes to pass, it will be in the context all those other times I didn’t, or at least seemed not to, fail, and people will give me the benefit of a doubt. So I give myself the same benefit.
5) I am fairly worried about death now. Not so much my own, as I will not be here to have to cope with that–though I do consciously think to myself that I have to remain alive because other people would be devastated if I died. It’s not that I don’t want to be alive, it’s more when I’m jaywalking and see an Uber barreling towards me with the driver on their phone–my mind flashes to an image of dear people crying, and I realize I should have just walked to the light. I also think quite often of how sad I would be if people I loved died, which I didn’t do when I was younger and none of them ever had.
6) I am doing better about following the news, and thus much more upset about it. This sort of follows on from the previous entry and also attaches to the next–I am aware of both mortality and the next generation, and the idea of the young people I know now getting to have full lives and not having to spend most of them digging up from the f*ck ups of previous generations is paramount to me.
7) Young people are ever-more charming to me as I start to notice how they are different from me. I have spent my whole life feeling as though I am 16 years old, and I’ve only just started to notice that I’m not. Recently I mentioned to a colleague that I will often watch one (1) episode of a TV and then stop–even a show I like a lot–and that’s why it was taking me so long to watch a series he wanted to know my opinion of. He was so baffled by this tendency that I finally described it as a generational difference–he is a whole ‘nother cycle of the year of the horse, 12 years younger than me. I said I have a “90s attention span,” a holdover from broadcast television when there was only one episode available to watch. That’s a silly example, but they are starting to crop up–I am different from young people. I mean, I’ve known intellectually that I am for some time, but I’m starting to actually feel it.
8) I can own privilege better. There is LOTS of room for improvement on this, but it has stopped feeling excruciating to say that my success came from, yes, my own hard work and brilliance but ALSO from me being positioned by my privilege in a number of ways to have those things pay off when many equally hard-working and brilliant but less-advantageously positioned people didn’t see the same results. It is SO CHALLENGING to accept that I didn’t do everything on my own, because I did and do work hard, but that’s the thing–it’s not about undermining myself, it’s about building others up. What benefits have I been given as a white woman? As a cis-gendered heterosexual married woman? As a person who went to excellent schools? As a person with educated parents (huge, and often overlooked, my friends)? AND HOW CAN WE MAKE THOSE THINGS AVAILABLE IN A WAY THAT’S FAIRER THAN “SOME GET LUCKY”??
9) It’s my time to give. For so long I have thought of myself of both young and sort of incompetent–I’d be lucky if I got anything done at all, I would need tonnes of help to do things properly, the kindness and support of others would be the main thing that stood between me and catastrophe. And I don’t know if I was so wrong about any of that–I’ve been pretty incompetent, and whether that’s #4 talking or not, I’ve definitely received tonnes of really generous, really fun, really helpful help. Almost every time I didn’t know what to do, someone reached out to me with an idea or a clue. So. I’m 41 now, and competent or not, I’m definitely not young, and I’ve been trying a little bit for the past few years to pay forward all of the kindness I’ve received. I think I need to try harder and make contributing to the communities I care for a higher priority in my 41st year and onward, even though it still seems strange to me to be on the other side of things, even just by virtue of seniority. I’m still working out what that might look like for me. Stay tuned.
May 17th, 2019
How blurbs work: blurber perspective
Following on from my last post about blurbs, this one takes the perspective of one who writes them instead of the one who solicits them. I’ve been lucky enough to be asked a bunch of times to write blurbs for Canadian books and I’m always thrilled to be asked (seriously, who doesn’t feel great when they are told their opinion matters?) I’m hardly an old hand at it, though I have blurbed some great books (I’ll put a list at the end of this post!)
I’ve also said no to blurbing a bunch of probably also great books (well, some of them). The thing about writing blurbs is that if I’m going to be in the ecosystem, I need to do it, but at the same time it is unpaid and time-consuming work to do well (I neither want to read carelessly and give a stupid quote, nor have my name associated with a stupid book). Here’s how I handle the process–would be curious if others who blurb occasionally have any different approaches…
I read every request with the ardent hope I can say yes, yet knowing I can say no for any reason at all. In truth, I never find it easy to say no to anything (something about being a woman, maybe??) but sometimes it should be easy: rudeness (the guy who wanted me to blurb because he already had two men and needed a woman for balance and he’d “heard” my work was great), unreasonable timelines (I once nearly cried saying no to a request for a blurb in WEEK!), subject matter not in my line (this has never happened to me, but anyone ever asked for me to blurb, say, a sci-fi adventure, I’d say no because sci-fi readers don’t care what I think). I also mainly say no to digital copies–I don’t have a digital reader and I feel really aggrieved spending time and money figuring out how to print an entire book so that I can then do someone a favour. I have done it in the past, but I probably won’t again. That last one is a me thing, but whatever–any reason at all.
So if the request is polite, the book sounds interesting and appropriate for me, they’re willing to give me some kind of hard copy, and I have enough time, I’ll usually agree to take a look. I always clarify that that doesn’t mean I’m promising a blurb–I might not like the book, love it but have nothing to say, or simply run out of time before the blurb is due. I’m simply agreeing to give it a shot. I think most people in the publishing game know this, but it never hurts to be extra clear. I do try very hard to read at least a chunk of everything I’m sent for blurbing, though I don’t 100% manage.
If I can’t do it, it often goes down to the wire. I wish this didn’t happen, but if I’m running out of time I’m always hoping I’ll find some and if I’m reading the book but not loving it, I’m always hoping it’ll get better. In the end, I do always follow up with the publisher or author, whoever my correspondent is. I usually just apologize and say I was unable to provide a blurb–no one needs to know which ones were time constraints and which ones were books I just didn’t click with. I wish I were able to get back to people earlier–I think it would probably help them in their planning. No one has ever been anything less than lovely about hearing no, which just increases my guilt but is also how it should be. Let’s all be lovely and hopefully there will be another opportunity to work together down the road!
If I start reading and the book seems like my jam, I try to read faster in order to get the blurb in earlier. This often does not work out, but it’s a thought. Blurbs go on book covers and that requires some designing so, better get it in early if I can. Once I sent a blurb very late and it did not get used!! That was very frustrating but largely my own fault! Anyway, I usually send maybe 3 sentences, knowing they all probably won’t get used, or the whole thing will go on the website but just a bit on the bookcover. I also offer to revise the thing if it’s not what they wanted–I really don’t want my words edited without my knowing about it, so I figure offering to revise it myself might cut down on that. Truncated fine, edited no.
I support the book in other ways if I can. I usually mention the book on social media when it comes out, go to the launch if I can make it, and generally do all the signal boosting I can. One of the first literary events I ever attended in Toronto was an awards night a friend took me to for a book he’d blurbed. I had it in mind after that once you blurb something you’re invested–you’re part of the team. I like that feeling.
Here are some books I’ve enjoyed being on the team for! (Am I forgetting one or two? I think…maybe? If I forgot your book, it is not because I didn’t love it–just because I am old and absent-minded! Please tell me so I can add it!)
- Late Breaking by KD Miller
- The Weather Inside by Emily Saso
- Circle of Stones by Suzanne Alyssa Andrew
- Resort by Andrew Daley
- The Work by Maria Meindl (forthcoming from Stonehouse Publishing)
Fellow blurbers, what is your process? What do you love and hate about blurbing?
May 13th, 2019
How blurbs work: blurbee perspective
Blurbs a weird little ecosystem that exist only in the book world. Movie posters or art exhibitions or similar will often put flattering lines from published reviews on their posters, but the filmmaker won’t go and ask another filmmaker to say something nice for the express purpose of the poster. Some authors opt out of the ecosystem entirely–don’t accept blurbs on their own work and don’t write’em for others, which seems fair. Others don’t write them but do accept them, which seems a little hinky.
But blurbs, because they are this unofficial, super-cas thing, are very hard to figure out if you are just-the-facts sort of person or hate owing people favours or are just uncomfortable with over-the-top praise, which they are by their nature. Even the word blurb just doesn’t sound very professional, and the system for getting them sourced and put on book covers is just not very formalized either. I don’t know everything about it, but here is everything I do know, which is a hell of a lot more than I did when I started both receiving and giving them.
NOTE: I don’t know why this post is so long. I tried to edit it shorter but I can’t seem to do it. This is really not a hugely important or weighty topic–what’s with all. these. words???
There is no standard person across publishing houses who is responsible for blurbs. I’ve seen editors, marketing, and publicity people handle these, as well as publishers and quite often the authors themselves. Agents are also sometimes involved. The key as an author is to assume neither that you aren’t responsible for getting blurbs for your book nor that you are. It would be terrible if you really wanted some but thought someone else would get the ball rolling and no one did; it would also be bad if you started soliciting blurbs only to find out that someone in-house had a plan for this that you were screwing up. That’s not to say that if someone with a recognizable name says something lovely about your work you shouldn’t immediately ask to get that in writing to use as a blurb, but then you should check with your editor or publicist (whoever your contact is at that stage) about how you should be handling potential blurbs. Even if publishing people want to steer the ship, they will almost certainly be open to your input and you can tell them who you think would be good and/or who has already indicated interest.
You can dream big, but carefully, about whom to approach for blurbs. Whether you as the author are doing the asking, or you are just submitting a list of names to someone else who is, there is no harm in shooting for the stars a little bit. It’s fine to spitball some big names for your list as long as you approach them respectfully and have well-thought-out reasons that would actually like your book. Also make sure whoever you ask has a readership that would like your book too. That’s a big part of what blurbs are for–a reader sees the name of a writer they like on the cover a book by a writer they don’t know, so they pick that one up too. That won’t work if you write, say, historical romance and you solicit blurbs from someone who writes exclusively horror. Not that that writer–or even their readers–might not be open-minded enough to enjoy your work, it’s just that a blurb is a certain type of signal: this is like that.
But in terms of big-name authors, sure, when approached through the appropriate channels, with a fair idea that they are asked all the time and will likely say no, sure, why not. They might say yes. But mainly you want to approach more normal people. Brainstorm a list that includes writers you admire in your own community, including maybe a few you have met as teachers or mentors or colleagues. Your editor or publicist or agent may have worked with other writers and know their work to be similar enough to be a good match, and also have an idea of what their schedule will allow.
How to ask: earlier than you think. If your publisher is handling the blurb, this is where you step out–they’re going to do what they’re going to do. If you as the author are responsible for making contact with potential blurbers, do it as early as possible. What you should provide:
- the reason you thought they might like your book (they have done similar work, you admire them for their work on x, they once said something nice about your writing before)
- all the marketing material that exists at this point (the cover and cover copy, an ad if one is being done, etc.) If none of this exists, you’ll have to describe the book yourself–be clear about the subject, structure, genre (don’t be coy about this–say what shelf in the store your publisher wants it to go on) and themes. Also mention page count.
- the timeline for the blurb: when you can provide the book, and when you’d need their response back
Needless to say, this should all be going to whatever official “contact” email address this author has. If you can’t find one but you can find a professional/”author” social media account, it is ok to send a tiny (a couple line) version of this message asking for an email address–please don’t try to jam a bunch of content into a Twitter DM, though.
Timelines: whee! If you as the author are actually coordinating the handing off of the pages to the potential blurbees, I cannot stress this enough: give them lots of time. More than you would think–as much as humanly possible. No, it doesn’t take that long to read a book and write a couple sentences about it, but the other person probably has other stuff going on, and didn’t slot this in until just this conversation right now.
You’re probably balancing this need for time with a need for quality–you want to wait long enough so that the book is in the best possible shape, without making the actual reading/think/blurb uncomfortably squeezed. So yeah, send the best possible version of the book you can well still balancing the most time you can give. Tough, but you have to try!
And what do I actually send? Publishers that have the time and money to do so send ARCs–advance reading copies–which are copyedited and typeset but not proofread, but are printed and bound. They have covers and often look basically like books, though they can also be more cheaply bound in cerlox (plastic spiral spine). If that is not an option for you, a stack of printed typeset or even manuscript pages (with the copyedit incorporated, I’m really hoping) is also fine, though more awkward for the person on the other end.
If you have not been given a budget for printing and mailing, you can ask blurbers if they are willing to read a digital copy. Many people read mainly on their devices these days and would be happy to. However, do be upfront about this–ie., your initial request should be about “consider reading a digital copy of my new novel” or some such. For people who get stressed out by the idea of adding another screen to their day (eg., me) it is pointless to get into whether I’d like to read this book or the logistics of scheduling time for it if I can’t even get a copy that suits my life. Also, do keep in mind that if your publisher has given you a $0 budget for obtaining blurbs, then maybe blurbs aren’t a very high priority in this market and it shouldn’t be a source of stress/expense for the author either.
What if I hear no? If you ask someone to consider blurbing your book and they say any version of a polite “no thank you” you should just say “thanks for letting me know” and move on. Resist the urge not to respond, because most of us in the book mines agonize over every no and are maybe hoping there will be a chance in the future to say yes to you and make this up–you want to fan that flame! Also, it is unpleasant to say no–thank them for replying because replying really is a kindness. If anyone is polite, even if it isn’t the answer you wanted, build the relationship and be polite in return. “No”s later in the process will hurt more, of course, but unless someone is rude about it, just thank them for their consideration and move on. If anyone seems particularly dejected at being unable to say yes, perhaps due to time constraints, try inviting them to the launch–you never know!
What if I hear yes? Be delighted! Now read the blurb and make sure there isn’t a weird typo or confusing sentence in there you need to ask about. Ask if you need to, then go back to being delighted again. Thank the blurber profusely, invite them to the launch, pass the blurb to your publisher, and that’s it.
When the book comes out, the classiest thing you can do is gift your blurbers a copy of the finished book. This is less important if ARCs that are basically books anyway were used for blurbs, but it is still a nice thing to do and shows that you are really mindful that you’ve been a good turn. If your blurber comes to the launch, you can make a point of giving it there, or send it via mail. If your publisher was the one arranging the blurbs and you’re not directly in touch, ask for them to send it on. You probably don’t want to inscribe these, though of course sign them, as they’re going to folks who have already read the book and they may want to give away these copies. Instead, tuck in a genuine thank you note.
And–this completes the circle. Blurbs are never paid back in any way other than the above. Rather, they are paid forward: what you do is wait hoping that sometime after your book comes out, someone will ask YOU to write a blurb for THEIR book, and you’ll be able to be generous and thoughtful the way others were with you, thus repaying your debt to the universe. I went on to write a post from the blurber perspective next, so hopefully now I’ve got it completely covered!
May 7th, 2019
Throwback: May 3, 2009: Making Maki
Note from the future: This is a fairly cute, innocuous little post about what it claims–learning to make maki sushi. However, from the perspective of 10 years and 4 days later, I find it BONKERS because the people who threw the maki-making party were Mark’s brother and sister-in-law and that evening was the first time I ever met them. I have NO IDEA why I decided to document the event in such detail or what they made of my efforts to do so. They let Mark marry me, so I guess they gave me a pass for nerves? They are lovely people, and I still only make sushi at their place. Also: I miss that watch.
This barely counts in my Japan prep-course, because a) I don’t think anyone’s going to demand I make them food while I’m there, and b) the sushi-party was thrown entirely in the interests of good times and deliciousness, not education. But I got all three out of it, and some good pictures and advice, as well. If you are curious as to how it’s all done, I can try to share what the party-throwers told me, below. Keep in mind though, I was only told once, I was nervous trying to do something dextrous in front of strangers, and my googling powers are only so great. So take this all with a grain of salt (or rice?)
First you need a maki su or sushi rolling mat (a mat of little bamboo sticks/that thing on the bottom layer in this picture). On that you put a sheet of delicious nori (dried seaweed). You cover two-thirds of that with a layer of sushi rice, which is both a specific kind of white short-grained rice and a recipe for mixing said rice with sushi or rice vingar. You flatten the rice on with this flat paddle-shaped spoon the name of which I can’t find, and then you are ready to start adding toppings.
The toppings can be whatever you want, unless you are hanging out with snobs. Here, our toppings are salmon, avocado, carrots, and fish roe. It was delicious.
Then, you roll. The secret to rolling is a) keep it tight (this was repeatedly emphasized, to the point where I suspected a joke I didn’t get. I can sense those, you know), b) use your fingers to tuck errant fillings inside, and c) take your time. This is not a rolling race.
Then, when it’s all rolled but the riceless nori-flap, you stick your fingers in a glass of water and moisten the inside of the flap, like an envelope and seal the thing shut. Ready to slice into rolls which maybe fall apart a little, but still taste delicious and don’t get photographed because this is when your camera dies. Which is fine, because at this point, one wants all available hands free for eating.
I hope everything I do relating to Japan is this entertaining and delicious.
Is the world so big / it make you feel small?
RR
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