Platforms, Formation of

Looking to sell a nonfiction book? On your list of "must-haves" are these two:
a) a compelling topic (duh);
b) a platform.

Agents and publishers say platform and my mind goes dark, in the same way it goes all blank when my brother, a commercial interior designer, says "systems planning."* What does that mean? Perhaps because I'm awash, I get random water-connected images: Olympic platform divers and the square wooden-planked raft tethered in the middle of the lake.

For a writer, a platform is whatever the writer has or does or is that can be employed in spreading the word about one's book. For example, say the president of the country's largest biotech trade organization writes a book about biotechnology. He has an excellent platform. He has a ton of contacts interested in the subject that he can tell about the book, and he'll be speaking all over the place at events where his book can be mentioned or even sold on the spot. His organization could buy copies of the book; companies that are members of the trade association could buy a lot of copies. An agent looks at that and sees dollar signs.

It would be wonderful if all we had to do is write the cussed book -- isn't that hard enough?! -- but no, you get to market yourself, too. And part of that is building a platform before the book publishes. In fact, publishers love proposals that show an author has an audience base already.

That audience base can be tied to speaking engagements, a Web site, activity in an organization (preferably tied to the book topic), regular appearances in the media (radio, TV, print, online). The more you're positioned as an expert -- either on the topic or as a good writer -- the better off you are, in terms of platform.


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*Systems planning has something to do with how the interior designer for office space puts together the walls, desk, files, etc., that come from a particular line (system) of office cubicle suppliers.

category: markets

Contemplating the Memoir

Do you have to write about your family?

It's a question I've been thinking about since 1996, when I went to the first Mid-Atlantic Creative Nonfiction Writers Conference at Goucher College. I headed to the weeklong event wanting to explore the genre and thinking about writing essays on how weird and hard motherhood is. (I have since decided that every writer who becomes a mother wants to earn money by writing such essays; the ones who quit major publications to stay home with their kids are the ones who publish these stories . . . in the publications they used to work for. But I digress.)

One of the conference faculty was Darcy Frey, a New York Times Magazine contributing editor who had written The Last Shot: City Streets, Basketball Dreams. He did a reading of a work-in-progress, a memoir about his father.

After the reading, several students stood around talking with Darcy. One was the weird writer. At every conference, you (or maybe it's just me) find at least one--someone who is peculiar and irritating. This woman liked to wear flamenco skirts, wore her hair in cascades of dyed-black curls, and picked her teacher by looking at the faculty's pictures.

The weird writer said she believed everyone had to write a memoir. She argued that it was necessary therapy. I disagreed. As she talked, she edged between Darcy and the rest of us. I have no idea what her deal was--but the point is, to have such a character evincing the opinion that you have to write about your family, well, it certainly made me dig in against it.

The problem is, my family is very rich pickings, story-wise. Examples: one sister has been married seven times. I was the guardian of my youngest brother and, at a different time, my youngest sister. When I'm feeling caustic, I think, Hey, they ought to be good for something in my life. On the other hand, it's hard to go there emotionally. I'd probably need to ask my siblings about things that I ignored. Do I want to do that? No.

I keep thinking about it, though. Maybe a better answer is, Not yet.

About That Creativity Thing

From a craft site (Creating From Scratch) by a woman journalist, I stumbled onto this guy, Hugh MacLeod, who draws cartoons on the back of business cards and has a page on his blog about How to Be Creative. I love his attitude (and his wicked funny cartoons) and think his advice is spot-on.

(I've got his new-every-day cartoons under the "Categories" list on the right side of this blog.)

The F Word

"Mommy! Daniel said the F word!" my daughter, 5, tattled on her 8-year-old brother.

"The F word?" I looked at her and raised my eyebrows. Neither my husband nor I use that word, but who knows what my children might pick up on the playground.

"You know," she leaned closer. "Fat."

"That's terrible," I said promptly, as if it never crossed my mind that she might be referring to a different word.

The F word I want to condemn today is failure. Many people are quick to label themselves failures. Sometimes they're kidding (I'm a failure as a mother!) or looking for reassurance from their friends (Awww, sweetie, course you're not!). Unfortunately, lots of times, we feel like bona fide duds. A rejection to a query letter can trigger the black F cloud upon us. We wonder why we keep writing. We think of everyone who is publishing essays, placing articles in national magazines, and getting books accepted. "Everyone but me!" we moan, rocking back and forth a little while we shred a tissue.

Allow yourself a little funk. A minute or two. Then, get over it. "Writer" and "rejection" are synonyms. It's part of a writer's life, the way a chef occasionally burns a steak and a quilter sews two pieces together inside out.

Easier said than done, I know. I know all too well. Over the years, I've developed a few tactics to stave off the "failure" label.

I go to bookstores and look at all the shelves full of books. If these people can be published, so can I.

Before I send off a query letter for a magazine article, I think of three or four publications that would be a good fit for the piece. If Magazine No. 1 passes on my idea, I adjust the wording and send it to the next magazine.

I remind myself that there's plenty of room at the top for everyone (a concept I got from Lynn Franklin of WriterL list). There's no one enforcing a quota on success.

How am I measuring success and what constitutes a failure? Don't let someone else define either. I know my circumstances.

You're not a failure till you stop trying.

category: craft