Four Things I Didn't Need to Become a Successful Novelist and Five Things I Did, Part I

TL;DR a.k.a executive summary: MFA, big cities, social media, career tunnel focus--meh. I am breaking this newsletter into two parts. Open next week's email for the "yay" to counter the "meh."

WHY DID I DECIDE TO WRITE THIS POST THIS WEEK?

Because I’m contrary. A newsletter by a publicist an agent¹ whom I respect from afar claimed that “writing full-time is the worst job” and gave lots of reasons why one can’t be expected to make a living from writing or enjoy making that artistic gamble at some point in your life.

No stability! No job description!

(Can you imagine all the books and movies, plays and paintings that wouldn’t exist if their makers cared only about stability and job descriptions?)

She signed her post Tough Love.

Well. I love toughness, ahem, but I don’t think “tough” and “dream” are incompatible. And I got a whole buncha other opinions, besides.

May we all be fabulous in our own ways. I would have written this whole post just to send you this GIF.

Note that I’m not actually telling you to quit your day job or sign up for an MFA—or withdraw from one, either. The great thing is, you already know in your heart what kind of person you are: the person who loves that twice-a-week check and stable bank account or the person who loves knowing her latest novel is being pitched for a Hollywood adaptation—which probably won’t come to fruition because very little in Hollywood does. But it’s still so much fun!

You also know how you’re going to feel when you hit that next decadal birthday. Or get that terminal disease diagnosis. (Life is a terminal disease. Sorry. I’m morbid, and maybe it helps! See Memento mori. I love those Stoics.)

Gather information and sample opinions—I’ll share a bunch of mine below, in short and long versions—but listen to your feelings.

Did I (and possibly do you) need…

an MFA to learn to write books?

Absolutely not. Skip the MFA if it will land you in debt you can’t or don’t want to manage. There are much cheaper and more efficient ways to learn and network (search: nonprofit writing centers). But what if you just want a degree? Then go for it. Some people like expensive cars. I’d pick lots of interesting graduate programs over a BMW.

The even longer answer: I loved my low-residency MFA in Los Angeles, especially the chance it gave me to escape the Alaska cold twice a year, get a break from the kiddos, and surround myself with people who care fiercely about writing and literary citizenship. I still remember the first seminar I walked into. Standing room only. About semi-colons. I was in heaven.

I used my time there mainly to learn from others how to teach and mentor. I had no expectations that it would help me publish more or better (it hasn’t), get me significant paid work (it didn’t; I was already a writing instructor), or impress anyone at all. My agents and editors don’t care about my three master’s degrees, least of all my MFA, and there are precious few jobs for creative writing teachers, which is the one thing this degree is best for—learning to teach, albeit only if someone will hire you.

My MFA got me lots of debt without a clear payoff, except that it helped me keep going—psychologically—as a teacher and sophomore novelist when I was 40 and feeling anxious and burnt out. I could have taken up a silly, expensive sport instead. I saved that splurge for after I turned 50.

To live in a big city or publishing hot-spot?

Better to be a bigger fish in a smaller pond, I say. Bonus points if you live somewhere astonishingly beautiful or fascinating because the people you’d like to meet may be willing to come to you.

In my twenties, when I moved to Anchorage, Alaska, I was acutely aware how few people I knew from the NYC publishing world. As it turns out, being one of ten or fifty aspiring writers in your smaller city, state, or province is a lot more useful than being one of ten thousand writing wannabes in a really big city. I made up for living thousands of miles from New York by attending conferences (that’s where I got my first agent) and workshops in the Lower 48. When I did sign my first book deal, I got the strong impression that being from somewhere “more interesting” was a huge plus. On top of that, as a literary organizer, I found it easy to lure big names (writers, agents, even TV producers) to the beautiful place where I’d decided to live. My friend who lives in Hawaii has had the same experience. Pick the right place to live and it is sometimes possible to get the world to come to you.

P.S. Exception. Want to be a screenwriter? Move to Los Angeles.

A big social media following?

Certain kinds of nonfiction authors need big platforms. Literary writers, especially novelists, do not.

Don’t waste time worrying about this. Yes, social media can help with some things, like getting to know other authors and connecting with some readers who might have found you or your book without social media. If you hate it, skip it. If you can use it without stressing, focus your time on a limited number of high-ROI interactions. Discover and support other authors, in particular. I have made genuine friendships with other writers via Instagram and Substack. I also have found people to interview and fundraised for projects on all the socials.  

A “serious” other career?

Here’s where I’ll disagree with nearly everyone else out there, including smart people like Liz Gilbert, who says you shouldn’t place pressure on your writing to support you. She speaks from experience, but that experience is not universal. Some of us think and write better when we quit our regular jobs. I love earning money from writing. That’s the most fun kind of money to spend. For me, pressure helps. Even financial anxiety, like existential anxiety, has its place.

All that is fine, as long as you realize you will spend your life seeking side jobs, and you will have an extremely unpredictable income stream, and you won’t have security. Truth is, I don’t think anyone has security. My fully self-employed life has been organized around occasional windfalls and endless side jobs—freelance and travel writing, teaching, coaching, briefly directing a writing center, organizing bookish things for others. And I love those activities. Even if I were independently wealthy I’d still need to get out of my head at times.

If you happen to love or mostly love a more conventional main job—and you have the discipline required to do writing on the side—then do that. It certainly doesn’t take forty hours a week to write novels, memoirs, or screenplays. A well-guarded ten- or fifteen-plus hours a week, plus a “hell yes I am a writer, thank you” attitude with a touch of “and yes I will hide away in motels at times to crank through tough revisions” spirit is more than sufficient.

In fact, some people are more productive when they have less freedom. For me, caring for children was the essential creative constraint that stopped me from dinking around. If you truly want to write and do nothing else, I recommend moving to a country that provides health care and is generous with grants and other means of supporting artists, or move to a country that may not have great social programs but where food, rent, and fun are all incredibly cheap. I’ve done both.

Your take on all this?

Here’s where I’ll pause this diatribe because I got on a roll and wrote long. Part II will come next Friday. Have a few more minutes?

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Sob-worthy viewing

Has anyone else seen Origin, the Ana Duvernay movie based on the nonfiction 2020 bestseller Caste? I saw it last night in a movie theatre with only two other couples and rows upon rows of empty seats. I sobbed so many times that I just gave up on wiping my face after a while. This movie is a marvel of adaptation: a heart-breaking love story that is also an academic quest, a scathing indictment of racism (and, of course, caste), and the only realistic dramatization I can remember seeing of the nonfiction book-writing process. I can’t even imagine how Duvernay came up with this approach, which managed to be intellectually rigorous, emotionally wrenching, and aesthetically brilliant.

Less sobby but still stark and valuable: American Nightmare on Netflix, a true crime limited series about kidnapping/rape investigation gone very wrong. I am writing a second thriller at the moment that relies on cops being both annoying and deceptive in the investigation room, and I am happy for further confirmation and validation. Wait for the moment when the FBI compares the case to Gone Girl, which evidently gives him a reason to disbelieve the traumatized victims of this story, and shout back at the screen: “It’s not Gillian Flynn’s fault that you are such a world-class idiot!” (I watched this doc at Natalie’s recommendation. She called out the stoooopid Gone Girl comment, too.)

Coaching and Classes

I have openings for monthly coaching and full manuscript developmental editing. Read more here and contact me if you’d like to share some pages and learn more.

I’m also teaching a class over two Saturdays in March for 49 Writers called “Engaging Characters: Getting Past Simple ‘Likeability/Unlikeability’ and Learning How Strong Writers Break the Rules.” It’s open to all levels, includes a Saturday of positive workshopping, and will cover mostly fiction with a touch of memoir—because real-life narrators are characters, too! We had such a good turnout of warm, inspiring, interesting writers (of both fiction and nonfiction) for my suspense class last November that it made me want to repeat the experience.

More from the Writing Trenches

At 49 Writers, I make a pitch for tracking your writing and reading time (I recommend an app called Toggl) and I share what I learned from my 2023 numbers. From my conclusion:

“I hope I’ve made it clear that tracked time doesn’t force me to run harder on the hamster wheel of productivity, though it does help me understand the benefits of running steadily. In many ways, tracked time reassures me. I’m getting there. One hour or even just fifteen minutes at a time. It’s enough.”

At Present Tense, I explain how it took four years to become an island-dwelling suspense novelist.

The “Quick” Leap into Writing Suspense that Took Four+ Years

And a Deepest Lake update:

Blurbs are in—I am beyond grateful—and the hardcover is off to the presses. You can pre-order here if you are able. (Bookstores are great; library pre-orders help, too!) Thanks to those of you who ordered already! I’ll be sharing some of the kind words provided by early readers of the book in the months ahead. Here’s one!

1. I love when your first responder is a friend who knows exactly the person and newsletter you are talking about. I read two annoying ones in one week, from an agent and from a publicist, and I got them mixed up. Thanks DW!