Teaser Tuesday: Bad Advice for Authors

Originally published at Alpennia.com. You can comment here or there.

Well-meaning people will offer a number of very strongly worded rules of behavior for authors. I will heartily endorse most of them, such as, "Never ever ever talk back to reviews" and "I don't care if you're a professional editor, nobody can edit their own work successfully." But there are other rules for authors that make certain unwarranted assumptions about the author's situation. I'd like to talk about two of them today: "Pay no attention at all to reviews" and "Never compare your career to that of other authors." The people who wave these rules in your face are typically coming from a place of priviledge where they have an agent, a publisher, and likely even a publisher's publicity department to do these things for you. And the simple fact is that someone needs to pay attention to reviews and to the shape of your career, and if no one else is doing so, then you need to do it for yourself.

Let's look at "pay no attention to reviews." My publisher has pull-quotes from reviews of my books on their web page for my books. You know how they know those reviews exist? I told them. This is particularly applicable to reviews of my work in SFF spaces, because those are entirely off my publisher's radar. But even in LGBTQ media spaces, I've been instructed to point out reviews of my work because otherwise there's no guarantee they'll know about them. So I not only need to know that reviews of my books exist, but I need to read them so that I can highlight particularly useful ones that my publisher can use for publicity purposes. No one else is going to do this. If I don't do it, it won't get done. Pay no attention to reviews? Wouldn't it be lovely.

How about "never compare your career to that of other authors"? This is all very well if you have a solid idea of the scope of what your career should look like. If you know what a book contract should look like and how a publisher should treat your work. If you know what reasonable timeframes are. If you know what types of publicity are useful and which types only exist to enrich someone else. (Professionally-organized blog tours? If you're paying for them, they exist only to enrich someone else.) If you don't have to organize getting your books to reviewers by yourself. (How do you know which reviewers might be interested? You compare your work to other authors and see where they're being reviewed--and you try to second-guess whether those particular review opportunities are even available to you.) If you know what types of interview and guest blog opportunities are available. (How in the world are you supposed to know who to approach about these things if you aren't comparing your work to other authors?) If you know which types of award venues will enhance your reputation and which ones will flag you as a hopeless wannabe. (It's ok to cast a broad net when you're first starting out, but eventually you need to pay serious attention to the company your books are keeping. Look at the books that win a particular award and ask yourself, "Is this a book I would be proud to lose to? Would I really consider it an honor just to be shortlisted for this award?") If you aren't paying attention to award shortlists and winners and comparing your work to them, you won't know whether it's worth submitting your books for consideration. And that could mean you either miss opportunities or you find yourself boasting of something that turns out to be a vanity award. If you don't have an agent or a publishing publicity department that follows up on these things, then you have to do it yourself. And that means spending a lot of time paying attention to other people's books.

Where is the line between studying the field to work out the appropriate expectations/baselines and looking at other authors' careeers and becoming consumed with envy? It isn't as easy to identify as you might think. It's hard to achieve something in the writing world without wanting it deeply. Wanting something deeply implies being dissatisfied with not having it. Figuring out how to achieve something that other people appear to have achieved implies thinking about that achievement. And we are all human beings. You can suppress the envy, you can conceal it, you can lock it away in a box in the back of your closet along with your secret fantasies of fame and fortune. But you can't stop being human and wanting things.

So if you're a published author with an agent and a large publisher, and you find yourself admonishing another author about obsessing over reviews and the opportunities that other authors are enjoying, check your privilege. Because even if you feel like you don't have much, it may still be worlds more than what that author has--what they even have the slimmest hope of

* * *.

Barbara Lumbeirt would seem to have a great deal of privilege in Rotenek society, but her interest in law and government brings her a great many frustrations at the invisible barriers set between a woman and full participation in that sphere. The casual discussions, debates, and tacit agreements that are hammered out in the gentlemen's clubs are, if not entirely closed to her, entered into only with the spotlight glare of surprised attention. A ball, on the other hand, serves many purposes, and Barbara has come to enjoy most of them.

* * *

Chapter 23 - Barbara

When pressed to it, Barbara had to admit that she enjoyed the grand balls of the season. That is, she had begun enjoying them after the first few years, once the suitors had given up hope of her granting them anything more than a dance and a penetrating conversation about politics. Back when she had attended on the old baron, she had stood watchfully in the arcades and galleries, focused entirely on him and those around him. In those days, she’d wondered why he bothered with dancing masters and lessons in comportment if she were only to be a spectator. She’d denied it at the time, but she’d envied the bright and elegant figures in the center of the salles, knowing she had no entrance to that world except in Baron Saveze’s service.

Then the world had turned upside down and she became Saveze.

Barbara had arrived late and danced a set with Rikerd Ovinze, and then another with Perrez Chalfin, before seeking out her hosts to exchange pleasantries. With several daughters of an age for dancing, the Alboris had become part of the backbone of the season—these grand events designed to introduce a parade of accomplished young women to a similar parade of promising young men. The family’s connection to Lord Albori, the foreign minister, meant they could attract the cream of Rotenek society, despite not falling within the upper ranks themselves. She watched Renoz Albori move through the figures in a gown of apricot silk, overlaid with silver tissue. Her sister must have accepted an offer, or she wouldn’t have been allowed to outshine her.

“Another triumph I see, Verneke,” Barbara commented, nodding in Renoz’s direction. “Mihail, I’m guesing the rumors are true that your eldest has settled her choice at last. Is your cousin here tonight? I haven’t seen him yet.”

Mihael Albori harrumphed in acknowledgment. “Yes, though I beg you’ll allow him one evening without a word of affairs in France!”

Barbara smiled, knowing that Lord Albori himself had no such aversion. It was another hour before she found herself in company with the minister and, as she had guessed, he was deep in conversation over matters unrelated to the ball.

Estapez was asking, “Are you likely to be sent back so soon? I thought Perzin was to take charge of our interests in Paris.”

“He’s a good enough boy. Very sharp. But I expect Her Grace will want someone more experienced until matters settle down again.”

Barbara guessed correctly at which matters they were discussing when Estapez returned, “But he’d been ill for quite some time. Surely the French ministers have everything in hand?”

“You’re speaking of the death of King Louis?” Barbara asked. The question briefly drew their attention, and then the circle reformed and she was accepted into the conversation.

“Nothing is ever settled until there’s a funeral and a coronation,” Albori said. “There’s no judging a king until he’s worn the crown a while. We have no idea what sort of neighbor Charles will be.”

It was the sort of idle banter that Barbara knew was common in the clubs, but she had access to it only at events such as this, or around the council hall. That made balls even more of an attraction than the dancing did. Nothing of any importance would be decided in such a setting, yet she enjoyed being accepted into the debate.

She both wished Margerit were at her side and was glad to spare her what she would find tedious. Politics amused her even less than dancing. Barbara scanned the room and her eyes settled on a tall figure at the far side. Now there was another person who appeared only grudgingly in the Grand Salle.

Antuniet stood regally at the edge of the knot of admirers surrounding Jeanne. They had come to a compromise, where Antuniet would accompany Jeanne into society on occasion, then drift away to quiet corners when the press and noise became too much. They had their little rituals to maintain the truce.

Barbara watched one of those rituals now as Jeanne reached out briefly to touch the crimson pendant that always hung at Antuniet’s throat before returning to her audience. Antuniet turned to retreat to the far end of the salle where a glassed-in conservatory opened off toward the gardens and one might find some solitude even during the bustle of a high season ball.

Something in the way that Antuniet moved nagged at Barbara’s attention. When you had trained with the sword for more than half your life, you never stopped seeing such things: a change in balance, a shift in how one carried oneself. They had met to consult on the current set of alchemical gems several times in the last weeks. Had she stood too closely to notice? Her gaze followed Antuniet’s path across the salle. At first the impossibility of the suspicion baffled her. Yet the signs were unmistakable now that she looked for them. Barbara’s lips thinned into a grim line as she counted back. Without seeming to follow, she too drifted toward the far end of the salle.