| Amita Basu | The Argumentative Amita | Article No 5 |
(This is the fifth column in The Argumentative Amita series.)
I’ve been writing all my life; writing is the thing I’ve poured everything into – but only recently, around the time I turned 37, did I place my first book. In this installment of The Argumentative Amita I want to analyse why my journey has been so slow. I hope other aspiring writers can learn from my mistakes. I believe, as Marx did, that creativity is a human being’s highest faculty, and that any creative person must honour their calling, as best they can, for their own sake. But the journey is long and hard for many of us, and forewarned is forearmed.
Why did I take so long to finish my first book?
My writing journey: mistakes and lessons
Most of my life, I went about writing the wrong way. I love reading novels, so, beginning in middle school, I wrote a series of novels. Most of them I never finished. The earlier novels were drivel that I wisely abandoned midway. With the later novels, I became obsessed with perfecting the first chapter or two before I finished a full first draft. I poured everything I observed and experienced into this series of first chapters. These first chapters kept getting longer and more involved, novels in themselves. I abandoned all realistic hope of ever finishing whatever book I was working on. But, then, that book was all I had, my only hope of making something of my life. So I kept at it. I was stuck in my other career, too, stuck in my PhD. I could see no future for myself.
For years I consumed copious amounts of coffee and alcohol. I was in a chronically impaired state of consciousness. Looking back, I was drugging myself into persisting with projects that I should, rationally, have abandoned. Persistence is a valuable trait. But to persist at an ill-conceived project isn’t admirable – it’s self-destructive. I suffered from anxiety and depression, which further skewed my judgment, exacerbated my crippling perfectionism, and kept me from ever stepping back to reevaluate.
Some people say that no time is really wasted, that you learn even from failed projects. I’m skeptical. If you have a goal, why not pursue it efficiently and effectively? Some of us do waste years or decades of our life mired in various problems, inertia, and ineffective habits. If we acknowledge that time lost is lost forever, we might be better able to do our best with the time we’ve got left. Here’s what I’m doing right, now, and here’s what I would do from the start if I could start all over:
(a) Read critically.
I’ve always read a lot, but until my late 20s I read uncritically and mindlessly, much like someone binge-watching. I’ve always had strong opinions about writing. I find it painful to read bad writing. (Struggling to reread the bad first drafts of my own writing were the primary reason why I never finished a full first draft of a novel. I felt compelled to have a perfect first chapter before drafting the second.)
Identifying why certain books were great and others mediocre, paying attention to how writers structured their books, and pausing to critically reflect on everything I read helped me enormously. There are things we do absorb from passive reading – but making time to critically review what you read, and to draw lessons for your own writing, is much more effective. After graduating, belatedly, from passive to critical reading, I spent several years blogging extensive book reviews of everything I read. This is a practice I no longer have time for, but I do still privately reflect on what I read. Understanding how a great writer makes you despise or admire a character, how they withhold information to build suspense, and how they drip-feed you just what you need to know without burying you in exposition – all this pays off. If you want guidance in your critical reading journey, George Saunders’s Story Club is excellent, as does his book, A Swim in a Pond in the Rain. This approach doesn’t require any knowledge of theory or formal literary criticism, just an attentive mind. (Thank you to my writer friend Anna Chapman for introducing me to George Saunders.)
Reading critically has intensified the enjoyment I get from reading. It’s also helped my writing.
On a related note: it’s also important to be able to silence your inner critic during some phases of writing. First finish your first draft! Don’t worry if it’s bad. Get the whole story down before you start critiquing it. Structured chapters and beautiful sentences can come later.
(b) Work up to novels, starting from flash and short fiction up through novelettes and novellas.
I only began writing short fiction in 2019. Writing short form presents its own challenges. I’m verbose by nature, whereas the contemporary short story demands great compactness, a particular kind of structure, and minimal exposition. Writing a short story is hard, but writing a novel is harder. Without extensive practice in the short form, the challenges of a novel overwhelmed me.
Since then, extensive practice in the short form, as well as the confidence that comes from publishing in increasingly better literary magazines, has made me feel more or less ready to embark on a novel – and to finish it, this time. I’ve come to love writing and reading the short form, which surprised me as a lifelong lover of novels. Another advantage is that you can publish short stories individually, whereas with a novel (though you can still publish one or two ‘standalone excerpts’), you’re taking a much bigger risk. Starting in the short form is a no-brainer for a writer to incrementally build their skills, portfolio, and confidence.
Submittable and Duotrope are excellent platforms to discover magazines looking for work: everything from visual art and graphic novels to poetry, flash fiction, and book-length manuscripts. These platforms are free to use and list thousands of opportunities.
(c) Accept the incremental pathway to success.
There are books for which publishers pay spectacular advances, books that sell dozens of millions of copies. But millionaire writers like J. K. Rowling, Stephen King, and James Patterson are a fraction of all working writers. The attention they attract may mislead aspiring writers. Most of us will never experience the commercial success of Chetan Bhagat and Sudha Murthy or the critical success of Amitav Ghosh and Arundhati Roy. The median earnings of fulltime authors in the US in 2022 from their books was $10,000. For the whole year. Most ‘fulltime’ authors have jobs like editing and teaching. And most books – over 99% of all books published – not only don’t earn any money, they lose money.
‘But of course,’ the voice inside me whispered, ‘I’m in the 1%.’
How do you know whether the voice inside you is an angel or a demon? If it’s promising you overnight success in defiance of astronomical odds, if it’s promising that you can run a marathon in one leap, then – well, you be the judge.
Even though I knew how hard publishing was, and how remote anyone’s chances of big success – I hoped I’d be an exception. I imagined my talent was of such dazzling magnitude that I would achieve groundbreaking critical and commercial success, and do so with my first book. This insane fantasy explains why I was so desperate to write the next big thing, why I poured everything into one unfinished novel and then another and then another.
Paradoxically, but unsurprisingly, looking for shortcuts slowed me down. Had I stepped back and looked at myself, I would’ve realised that I’m talented but no genius, and that I, too, would have to follow the incremental pathway to success. That way, I would’ve likely published several books by now, though most likely with very modest success. Pitching all my hopes on one project that would take me from zero-to-hero kept me trapped me in a string of dead-end end projects with zero publishing credits.
Here’s something I’ve noticed: the greatest people are often very humble. Listen to interviews with the great writers, musicians, visual artists, and designers who appear on The Tim Ferriss Show, Design Matters, or Song Exploder. They typically have a great sense of play and exploration, humility and an honest admiration of other people’s work, and a willingness to work hard. The fact, of course, is that even for exceptional people, success seldom comes with their first project. The sooner you abandon your personal fable of being an exception, the sooner you can get started on your real journey.
God, I sound like your grandmother.
(d) Connect with other writers.
I’ve been writing since I could grasp a crayon, but only around age 30 did it occur to me to meet other writers. That’s when I found the Internet Writing Workshop (IWW), a free online worldwide critique group anchored at Pennsylvania State University. You submit your work for critique, and you critique other members’ work. Joining the IWW was the best move I’ve ever made for my writing. I made more progress in the four years I was in this group than in thirty years of writing alone before that.
Other people give you perspectives on your writing that might at first shock and wound you (“this fool doesn’t know what he’s talking about – he has failed to appreciate my genius”), but that you eventually, generally, appreciate. Receiving constructive criticism jumpstarted take #2 of my writing career. Learning to handle criticism is also vital for when you begin to submit to magazines. Depending on the quality of your work, the quality of the magazines you aim for, and your submissions strategy, your rejection-to-acceptance ratio will be anything from a drizzle to a torrent. I’ve heard several famous writing instructors say that the students who experienced the most success were not the ones who were most talented, but the ones who were best able to weather and learn from criticism and rejection.
Other platforms where you can find critique patterns (as well as submission opportunities, submission guides, and other goodies) include Critique Circle, Critique Match, Google Groups, Facebook writing groups, and the Association of Writers and Writing Programmes.
Another part of connecting with writers is to be a good literary citizen – to volunteer at literary magazines, festivals and conferences, and other community activities. Most literary magazines are run by volunteers: who spend hours a week reading, selecting, and editing submissions; pay out-of-pocket to run a web and/or a print magazine; and build communities via social media and in-person readings and launches. Submittable is a good place to find magazines that want help with reading and editing, design, social media, podcasts, etc. Every magazine that publishes you is a work of love, staffed most likely by volunteers. Pay it forward. Not only will you meet fellow readers and writers, you’ll expand your network for critiquing and marketing your own work. Most magazines are open to volunteers worldwide. Besides Mean Pepper Vine, I also volunteer at an American magazine and a Canadian one. I’ve found everyone to be generous and friendly, interested in supporting and promoting other writers.
(e) Address other issues
Address other issues, rather than expecting miraculous writing success to fix your life. There is a sense in which writing is therapeutic: not just because we often write about our own problems and, in doing so, gain perspective – but because to write well, to do anything well, offers a sense of fulfillment, competence, and power. But writing alone cannot fix us. My real-life problems – being stuck in my PhD, problematic substance use and other mental health problems – needed fixing. I didn’t know how to fix them, so I poured everything into writing. Result: years of stagnation in my writing and in the rest of my life.
I have since quit drinking, finished my PhD, switched to a career I enjoy, found friends who share my interests, and – primarily by making time to regularly think about things – got my life in order. I’m far from a role model of self-actualisation, but now at least I know where I am. Unsurprisingly, I’ve also made strides in writing and publishing.
While there are brilliant writers who live unhealthy, messy lives, they are the exception rather than the rule. When your personal, financial, or professional life are in turmoil, writing well and consistently becomes much harder. So do what poet Mary Oliver suggests – first take care of the “soft animal” of your body and mind. Writing comes easier when you’re healthy and happy.
My publishing journey: mistakes and lessons
My debut book is a short story collection. While my journey up to this point was long and roundabout, writing the book itself took only about two years. Placing the book took seven months. This process, too, required some adjusting of expectations to reality.
When you’re struggling to place your first book, it’s frustrating to be told, as I was by several literary agents, “We love your writing but short story collections just don’t sell. Please send us a novel.” Well, I thought, collections might sell if agents and publishers took a chance on them, promoted them, helped steer the tastes of the reading public. But a debut writer seeking traditional publication is in no position to shape the market: she must work within the market. Finally I accepted that no established agency in India was going to take a chance on my collection, and that my journey in publishing, just like my journey in writing, was going to be incremental. I began querying small presses.
There are thousands of small presses worldwide. Unlike the Big Five (Hachette, Penguin Random House, Pan Macmillan, Simon and Schuster, and HarperCollins), most small presses do accept unagented submissions: you can submit to them directly without having an agent as intermediary. And, of course, there’s self-publishing: Kindle Direct Publishing, for instance, is affordable and fast. But beware of hybrid presses. Hybrid publishing offers a model between traditional and self-publishing, with the writer and the publisher sharing costs. Legitimate hybrid presses do exist: these presses are selective in what they publish, offer professional editing and design, and put out quality work. But there are also numerous hybrid publishers whose exorbitant charges, modus operandi, and output quality are all suspect. (Writer Beware is a good place to educate yourself about the numerous and evolving scams in publishing.)
I was relieved when I finally placed my book – at a traditional small British press. I’m going to do my best working with my publisher editing, preparing, and marketing this book. But I’ve learned not to expect spectacular critical and/or commercial success. I expect my publishing journey will be like my writing journey, will be like the journey of the vast majority of writers worldwide: long and slow, incremental, with the rewards largely intrinsic. We write because we have to, and we write because we enjoy it. Everything else is a bonus.
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Amita Basu, is the Columnist and Interviews Editor of MeanPepperVine.
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