AUTHORS AND TWITTER

Last Sunday's NYTBR featured an article by Anne Trubek on the benefits of tweeting for authors. In it, Trubek addresses the "common conception of 'the author'" as solitary and asocial, noting that a number of writers use Twitter to establish closer communication with readers. She writes:

Many authors have little use for the pretension of hermetic distance and never accepted a historically specific idea of what it means to be a writer. With the digital age come new conceptions of authorship. And for both authors and readers, these changes may be unexpectedly salutary.

She goes on to quote clever tweets from writers that may draw additional readers to their books and to describe ways that writers can collect reader feedback, presumably as a type of market research.

I think it's great that social media offer writers whose books aren't necessarily getting a big push from their publishers a way to connect with readers directly. But I have questions about what seem to be the underlying assumptions of the article.

First, how much do we want writers to be influenced by readers? Of course, most writers want to reach the widest possible audience, and both professional and reader reviews can be important in helping writers recognize when they are not communicating well or are indulging in flights that are significant only to themselves. But I can't help wondering whether constant back-and-forth with readers is likely to result in a homogenization process.

Second, while it is true that not all authors require "hermetic distance," some are more social than others, and some really do need hours of focused effort to write. There is not, as far as I know, any correlation between a writer's personality style and the quality of his or her work. So I don't think Mat Johnson's statement that "It’s a meritocracy; if you’re interesting, you get followed” is accurate. Rather, it seems to be a popularity contest: If you can entertain potential readers and make them feel a personal connection to you--and possibly allow their opinions to influence your choice of covers, titles, etc., as Jennifer Weiner does--then your books may sell better. There is nothing wrong with that, but it doesn't make you a better writer than the person who can't bear the constant interruption of Twitter or who doesn't think in one-liners. And as publicity becomes more and more the job of the author, I am afraid that these quieter voices may be drowned out.

 Susan O'Doherty, Ph.D., is a clinical psychologist with a New York City-based practice. A fiction writer herself, she specializes in issues affecting writers and other creative artists. She is the author of Getting Unstuck without Coming Unglued: A Woman's Guide to Unblocking Creativity (Seal, 2007). Her Career Coach column appears every Monday on Inside Higher Ed's Mama, Ph.D. blog, and she is a regular guest panelist on Litopia After Dark. She can be reached at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.

Thoughts on Publishing Envy

In this week's Kind Reader column, Jessa Crispin offers interesting and helpful advice to an unpublished writer who is repeatedly asked to share in her/his friends' joy in their publishing success. Crispin reminds the LW that William James was not published until he was forty-nine, and urges him/her to channel these feelings of envy into greater focus and productivity.

I think this is excellent advice, as far as it goes. (And it goes exactly as far as intended, since the premise of the column is the application of literature to life problems.) But it assumes that the writer will, eventually, be published, and statistically, this is nothing like a sure bet. Maybe the LW is a lousy writer. Maybe s/he is a wonderful writer whose subject matter doesn't have great popular appeal. Maybe s/he is a great writer on universally appealing topics, who yet will never be discovered. There is no way to know.

So the question remains: How do we deal with envy and resentment toward friends who have achieved (or, we may feel, been handed) our hearts' desire?

I think one important factor is acknowledging that life is inherently unfair. If it were fair, nobody would own two houses while others go homeless. We wouldn't eat in nice restaurants while some people are hungry or malnourished. And so on.

This is not to shame anyone for having a more pleasant or easier life than others may, but merely to point out that we can only play the hand we're dealt. And the deck is not distributed equally among players.

Some  are dealt superior intellectual or artistic gifts, or experiences that foster the development of self-confidence and assertiveness that will help them push forward in the face of repeated rejection. Some have educational advantages; some are economically privileged, able to pursue writing time, coaching, and workshops that others cannot. Some are born into the "right" ethnic group or social class. Some are physically conventionally attractive, which is increasingly important to publishers' marketing departments. And some have simply led lives that others deem more interesting or valid.

The point is, there is no such thing as a level playing field. Each of us starts at a different place and follows a unique trajectory. Conventional success doesn't indicate artistic or moral superiority; neither does starving in a garret for pure art.

So comparisons are futile. Our friends' success has little to do with us--it's not a race, and the finish line, if there is one, will be different for each of us. The best "cure" for envy--either envy of others or fear of others' envy--in my experience is to acknowledge this and live by it. We choose to write because writing nourishes us. We choose our friends because we love them. We are not in competition, because we can't be. So we can rejoice in their happiness while still wishing for our own, possibly elusive, success. There is a conflict only if we create one.

Obviously, this is easier to say and understand than to put into practice. But I think it is worth keeping in mind.

An artist friend sent the following quote as her New Year greeting this year. I plan to make it my resolution:

"Don't think about making art, just get it done.  Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it.  While they are deciding, make even more art."

--Andy Warhol

 Susan O'Doherty, Ph.D., is a clinical psychologist with a New York City-based practice. A fiction writer herself, she specializes in issues affecting writers and other creative artists. She is the author of Getting Unstuck without Coming Unglued: A Woman's Guide to Unblocking Creativity (Seal, 2007). Her Career Coach column appears every Monday on Inside Higher Ed's Mama, Ph.D. blog, and she is a regular guest panelist on Litopia After Dark. She can be reached at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.

DEAR BOOK BIZ SANTA,

The holiday season can be a beautiful, joyous period of renewal and connection. It can also reinforce feelings of loneliness and inadequacy in sensitive, vulnerable people. This includes everyone, but writers tend to struggle in particular ways. Those lucky few of us who can support ourselves through writing spend our working hours in isolation, which can feel burdensome when one is surrounded by images of congenial merrymaking. For those who toil at unrewarding day jobs to pay the bills, the bills tend to mount at this time of year, forcing increased hours that push writing time to the bottom of the list.

In addition, writers are readers. No matter that we turned to more cynical material as we matured, most of us were nourished on A Christmas Carol,  Cricket on the Hearth, A Child's Christmas in Wales, A Christmas Memory, A Visit from Saint Nicholas, and so on, and our own celebrations and connections can't help but come up short.

This was hard enough when publishing was working. This year, I have heard uncountable horror stories from clients and friends about being shunned by formerly supportive agents and editors, being neglected by publicity departments, and being stabbed in the back by colleagues turned "frenemy" as the perceived pie shrinks.

Obviously, if you could turn the economy around we would all be grateful. Lacking that, here is my request: Please deliver the following message to every discouraged writer on your list.

It isn't you. We are all in it together. We will weather this. Keep writing, keep reading, keep digging for the truth and expressing it as only you can. The world needs you now more than ever.

Love,

Dr. Sue

 Susan O'Doherty, Ph.D., is a clinical psychologist with a New York City-based practice. A fiction writer herself, she specializes in issues affecting writers and other creative artists. She is the author of Getting Unstuck without Coming Unglued: A Woman's Guide to Unblocking Creativity (Seal, 2007). Her Career Coach column appears every Monday on Inside Higher Ed's Mama, Ph.D. blog, and she is a regular guest panelist on Litopia After Dark. She can be reached at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.

LOU READS

This week, Lou Reed visited my local independent bookstore to publicize his new book, The Raven. Or that was why I assumed he was coming; after having seen him I'm not sure why he was there.

I was admittedly not the target audience for this reading. There was a period in my youth when I thought he was a genius, and I still find much to admire in his songs and his stance. And I'm grateful to him for serving as a gateway to the Beat poets, Rimbaud and WS Burroughs, all of whom provided me with entertainment, inspiration and courage at difficult times in my life. But I'm older and more tired now, and the only reasons I attended the reading were that my friends wanted to go and the bookstore is a quick walk from home. So I was in a good position to observe the audience-author interactions from an outsider perspective.

I have attended many readings in which authors have presented as anxious to please their audiences, going out of their way to respond politely and in detail to such questions as, "What is your favorite color?" and "Why didn't you write about [fill in pet topic]?" I have even attended a reading at which the author was actively hostile to the audience, ridiculing their questions and accusing members of not knowing how to read. But this was my first encounter with a writer who seemed completely indifferent to the other people in the room.

He read in a monotone that was at times difficult to understand, and instructed the employee in charge of the accompanying slideshow to linger on or return to his favorite illustrations so that he could meditate silently on them. He dismissed questions, not with anger or contempt, but simply, apparently, because they did not appeal to him. And although I could not wait to leave, the rest of the audience seemed entranced. (And no, very few people appeared stoned. That was my first thought too.)

I was especially attuned to this because I am scheduled to give two performances this week, neither of which is high-stakes, but about both of which I am extremely nervous. Both my musical theater teacher and a friend who is a professional musician, to whom I have been neurosing ("I know there is nothing to be afraid of--the same way a child knows there aren't monsters under the bed, but doesn't want to turn out the light") insist that nerves are a good thing--that a lack of complacency makes us work harder, and provides that all-important charge between performer and audience.

I'm thinking, too, though, about a wonderful acting teacher who used to tell us, "Don't cater to the audience. When you cater to anyone--a lover, a child, an audience--you lose them. Do what you do based on who you are, and the audience will find you there."

I think there is wisdom in both stances. But I have to admit, I would have appreciated a little nervous energy the other night.

 Susan O'Doherty, Ph.D., is a clinical psychologist with a New York City-based practice. A fiction writer herself, she specializes in issues affecting writers and other creative artists. She is the author of Getting Unstuck without Coming Unglued: A Woman's Guide to Unblocking Creativity (Seal, 2007). Her Career Coach column appears every Monday on Inside Higher Ed's Mama, Ph.D. blog, and she is a regular guest panelist on Litopia After Dark. She can be reached at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.

Dear Dr. O'Doherty,

 With the most recent extreme example of plagiarism all the publishing buzz at the moment (Q.R. Markham's Assassin of Secrets, published by Mulholland, turns out to be entirely composed of text taken from well-known published books), would you please tell us something about the impulse to plagiarize? These cases arise every so often, most recently, for example, the case of Kaavya Viswanathan's debut novel, published in 2006 and withdrawn when her plagIarisms from Megan McCafferty, Salman Rushdie, and a few other published authors came to light.

With Assasssin of Secrets, it isn't just a few cut-and-pasted sentences, but an extraordinary crazy quilt of appropriated text on, possibly, every page. (It is a remarkable feat, in its way, crafting a Frankenstein's monster of a novel apparently coherent enough to garner starred reviews in PW and Kirkus.) Even his answers in an online Q&A about the book turn out to be words stolen from other writers.

How could someone capable of composing a readable manuscript, getting an agent, signing with a publisher, and going through all the stepsone goes through over many months or even years when one publishes a novel never have second thoughts about this sufficient to withdraw the manuscript? (And the author is part-owner of a Brooklyn bookstore, so he might even have awareness of the impact on booksellers when something like this happens.) How could someone's (apparent) ambition to be a published writer lead to the delusion, especially in this internet age, that "writing" such a book could succeed undetected?

Obviously, the publishers need to do some soul-searching on their side. I am asking you to explain something about the author's behavior and thinking in a situation like this. While of course you cannot know what was going on for this individual in this case, can you shed light on what may be going on when someone does something like this? What happened here?

-- Curious and Disturbed

Dear C & D,

As you may know, since you wrote, Quentin Rowan ("Markham") himself has published an account of his process. You will need to decide for yourself how truthful and self-aware this is.

Regarding the more general issue you present, it is fascinating and complex and deserves a fuller response than I can give here, but I will try to hit the main points.

There are many possible motivations for covert antisocial behavior. Some individuals have an inflated, possibly delusional, sense of their own cleverness; they may believe they will never get caught and even enjoy the sense of hiding in plain sight.

Others are thrill-seeking; the excitement of doing something risky (such as speeding, sneaking drugs and alcohol into the school dance, or, yes, plagiarizing, particularly in an obvious way) is enhanced by the knowledge that the consequences of being caught may be dire. This seems to be, at least in part, the process that Rowan describes: substituting the addictive thrill of alcoholism with that of plagiarism.

Still others may struggle with deep-seated feelings of guilt over unrelated acts and actually wish to be caught and punished.

And our culture tends to value form over substance; the state of being famous rather than doing something worthwhile that may also make you famous. Some writers struggle with a perceived need to be published, or famous, and this need can become so intense that it overshadows morality and realistic thinking.

But keep in mind that, although plagiarism is illegal and arguably deeply immoral, it is not unnatural. The idea of intellectual property is a relatively recent one; for earlier generations, stories were passed down and refined or embellished as the teller saw fit--think of the Robin Hood and Camelot legends, or the different versions of Cinderella (or Hamlet). It may be that when we respond strongly to a story, we have an impulse to own it; to claim it as our own--and some people are simply unable to resist this pull.

 Susan O'Doherty, Ph.D., is a clinical psychologist with a New York City-based practice. A fiction writer herself, she specializes in issues affecting writers and other creative artists. She is the author of Getting Unstuck without Coming Unglued: A Woman's Guide to Unblocking Creativity (Seal, 2007). Her Career Coach column appears every Monday on Inside Higher Ed's Mama, Ph.D. blog, and she is a regular guest panelist on Litopia After Dark. She can be reached at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com

Writing on the Air

My regular improv class is on hiatus, so to keep from getting rusty I recently took a trial class at another school. It was fun, and fascinating to experience a very different approach to the same material. One exchange between John, the teacher, and another student stayed with me, because it highlighted something I think all improvisers feel but that I have never heard articulated before.

In a scene involving food preparation, the student had been holding an imaginary pot when he got into an argument with another character and started waving his arms around. Afterward, John asked, "So what happened to the pot?"

The student acknowledged that he had forgotten all about it. "I was worried about where the scene was going," he said, "and I lost track of where I was."

"That's what's so hard about this business," John commented. "You have to wear all the hats, at the same time. You're the writer, the director, and the prop manager, in addition to being the actor. You have to be completely authentic in the moment, and at the same time you have to be aware of the narrative arc and where you're pushing it. There are no rehearsals, no do-overs. It's just you and your co-creators, up there, naked."

He made it sound difficult and scary, and it is. It is also incredibly freeing.

When I write, I am a compulsive reviser. I have to force myself to send stories out, because I never believe they are really done. I rip them apart and put the scenes together in different order; I rewrite them from the point of view of a minor character; I change the setting, the time of year, and the characters' names and vocations. I have been fiddling with some stories for more than 15 years now.

This is fun, but it can be hard to know when to stop--when there really is more to be gotten out of a story, vs nit picking that keeps me from moving on.

Improv is really helping with this. I can't look on anything I do as a draft. I can't revise. I am constantly learning from my mistakes, but I can't go back and fix the mistakes; I can only try to do better next time. And sometimes what I think is a mistake--a spontaneous expression that I would, if I were writing, go back and delete--turns out to be exactly what the scene needs.

It is an exciting, humbling, and confidence building art, and it is changing everything.

 Susan O'Doherty, Ph.D., is a clinical psychologist with a New York City-based practice. A fiction writer herself, she specializes in issues affecting writers and other creative artists. She is the author of Getting Unstuck without Coming Unglued: A Woman's Guide to Unblocking Creativity (Seal, 2007). Her Career Coach column appears every Monday on Inside Higher Ed's Mama, Ph.D. blog, and she is a regular guest panelist on Litopia After Dark. She can be reached at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.