There comes a moment in the life of most every writer when they discover a story so good, so big, so engrossing, so filled with the stuff that keeps them awake at night, that they believe they have finally reeled in the Big One:
They have a book.
Fanciful dreams take flight – New York Times Best Seller, Oprah’s Book Club, and options for the movie rights (or streaming; hey their money is green, no?).
Then comes the bracing splash of icy icy water and with it the question that emerges as the euphoria dies down: But is it a book?
They ask friends who are sure it is, and co-workers who think maybe not, and look at what’s selling and think, maybe…dunno.
Even as the publishing world shrinks with consolidation and grows ever more risk averse, there remain, and likely always will be writers who want, who need to write books. Count me among them.
Dreams and drive, however, take you only so far and at some point it is imperative that you begin to ask yourself whether, in fact, you are sitting on a terrific book, or perhaps something worthy, but not quite a volume between covers.
How to know?
What to ask?
I put the question to one of the wisest, most candid editors I know, Paul Golob. I am among the lucky writers to have had Paul for an editor. In a world where editors typically acquire books but don’t necessarily edit them (every author leans on friends and loved ones for that), Paul is that rare editor who goes through every sentence to make sure it’s working. And damn if he always makes it better.
Paul has been a book editor for over three decades, having held senior editorial positions at Henry Holt, PublicAffairs, The Free Press, Basic Books, and Times Books, where he was editorial director for ten years. He is currently an independent book editor (www.paulgolob.com) who works on nonfiction manuscripts in history, biography, current events, international relations, and other subjects.
I sent Paul three questions that I assumed would cover what every would-be-author needed to know. Paul, ever the editor, pointed out where I had gone astray. The answers, the calculus was far more complicated, as his response, which follows, shows.
Over to you, Paul.
If you’re a journalist who wants to become an author, you’ll need to make a few perceptual adjustments. It’s not that the journalist’s way of working is wrong; it’s just that it’s suited to a particular medium, and books have a different internal logic.
The first adjustment is how you assess whether something is “a story.”
For a reporter, a “story” is information that breaks news – a detail or series of details that are not widely known (or known at all) about a recent event or an event in the past that continues to have an impact today. If you possess some detail or quote or document or access that no other reporter has, then you have a “story.”
For an author, just having new information – even unique or exclusive information – is not enough. And that’s because books rely on a different meaning of “story.” You may have noticed that some topics are the basis for dozens of books – the Civil War, famous sporting events, the lives of U.S. presidents. That’s because what differentiates these books is not what’s news (though each will likely have something new in it), but the way in which the material is presented. Here, “story” refers to character, narrative, and a connection with the reader.
In general, people like to read about people, and they respond to narratives with a beginning, a middle, and an end.
If your book is not people-based, or if it doesn’t have a narrative momentum toward a destination, it’s not likely to work as a book for general-interest readers. In order for these readers to invest several days or weeks in what you’re writing, they need to forge an emotional or intellectual connection to the material. Just advancing and deepening the factual record is not sufficient to forge that connection. So the questions to ask are:
· Who are the protagonists of your book?
· Are you providing enough information about them to render them as three-dimensional characters whose actions and attitudes engage the reader’s sympathies or interest?
· Are there opposing characters who get in the way of the protagonists? Are there supporting characters who aid the protagonists or who come into the narrative here or there to move things forward and/or provide a new and engaging perspective?
· Where does your narrative begin, where does it end, and what dramatic obstacles do the protagonists have to overcome to reach the end?
I know this sounds a lot like fiction writing, but even for nonfiction, it’s important to recognize that human beings are hard-wired to respond to narrative and character; it’s the way we ingest and retain information. And that’s different from writing a newspaper or magazine story.
A related difference between journalism and book writing is that the longer length of a book is a difference in kind as well as a difference in scale. This shows up in the research and reporting that each format requires.
Newspaper and magazine stories rely primarily on interviews and first-hand reporting and observation. A reporter will of course read up on what has already been written on the topic, especially the most current reportage, but what makes a work of journalism stand out is the original reporting that moves our understanding forward.
For a book, by contrast, first-hand reporting will only take you so far before it starts to feel thin. A book requires a deeper command of the subject matter, and you’ll have to immerse yourself in biographical, historical, cultural, or even geographical background material. To do this, you’ll need to be comfortable working in archives and libraries, where original source documents, including memos and letters, are found. Only by “turning every page,” as Robert Caro says, can you truly piece together what people were thinking as an event was happening, without the inevitable distortions that human memory imposes. You can also use the knowledge gleaned from the documents to prod an interview subject to recall memories that are not top of mind – a useful tool in eliciting details that give color and immediacy to your book.
Many reporters feel out of place in libraries; it strikes them as too much like school. Reporters are also by nature “outdoor” people, whereas being cooped up in a library or archive all day is an “indoor” activity. But if you don’t have the sitzfleisch to spend hours poring over documents, it will be nearly impossible to create a three-dimensional world for your readers to experience.
Finally, if you want to make book writing your main professional pursuit, you need to take a long view. Each book, even for the most productive nonfiction writer, will likely take three years (at least) from conception to publication. So you are likely to write a maximum of ten books over the course of your career. That means every book needs to count – intellectually, emotionally, and commercially.
Intellectually, that means choosing topics that make the most of your knowledge, expertise, and interests. Learning about something from scratch may seem like fun, but the finished product is not likely to measure up well against books written by people who have been engaged in a topic for years, and readers are more likely to buy their books rather than yours. Also, if you don’t have a strong background in the subject matter, it’s going to be hard to convince a publisher to invest in your project.
Emotionally, it’s important to recognize that when you write a book, you won’t have the same support system as a staff writer or regular contributor to a publication. There are no colleagues, no supervisors, no regular deadlines, and none of the satisfaction that comes from seeing your byline in print (or on the screen). Your editor at the publishing house will not have the time or the bandwidth to hold your hand through the reporting, research, and drafting, so you’re on your own. If you don’t have a deep love for your topic that motivates you to work on it every day, you won’t reach the finish line.
Commercially, it’s important to choose your book topics strategically. Bouncing around from one subject to another will make it difficult for publishers, booksellers, and readers to understand who you are and why they should read your next book. You don’t have to write ten books on the same precise topic, but you want readers of your earlier books to pick up your later books, so they all should have a sensibility and an approach that provides a through-line that keeps readers coming back.
My final point is to recognize that as a commercial proposition, most books fail to achieve many of their goals. The vast majority do not earn out their advance and reach only a small slice of the potential audience. So the motivation must come from within. You should write books because you enjoy the activity and gain satisfaction and fulfillment from it.
Many years ago I published an author who was an award-winning and celebrated New York Times journalist. When I drafted the jacket flap copy for his book, he objected to one phrase in his author bio. I had written, “He writes for the New York Times,” and he wanted to change this to read, “He writes in the New York Times.” I asked why.
“The New York Times employs me,” he replied, “but I write for myself.”
* * *
We’ve gotten some terrific responses to last week’s survey about day jobs, and so I’d like to extend the survey for another week to give time for more responses.
Results next week.
In my Golden Years, over 70, (more gold than I can take with me) I like to write Comments. Books are more for young people who do not think their time is valuable. My wife reads books. She is young at heart. Not me.