March 2024: Revision Reflections
What it feels like to debut.
A dream come true? Well, sort of…
In case you haven’t heard, I have a book coming out. Today, as a matter of fact. This book is entitled THE DANCING BEARS: Queer Fables for the End Times. It’s a collection of eleven dark fiction short stories (eight previously published, three brand new) loosely connected by the theme of characters who desperately want what they cannot have. Things like family, love, self-respect, and connection. It’s a book about thwarted desire and the horror of reckoning with profound disappointment: Parents who refuse to love you. Wrong choices that can’t be unmade. Broken hearts that never heal. It’s a book about being too little, too late; a book about loss and trauma, grief and regret.
Cheerful stuff, right? But then—for better and for worse—that’s my wheelhouse.
Though I have been writing and teaching and publishing my short fiction for more than a decade now, this is technically my debut, which feels, at this stage in my career, a bit, shall we say… anticlimactic. If I’m being totally honest. After all, as debut books go, this is a pretty humble one. A slender volume from a small (if respected) press that isn’t even a novel. Debut short story collections rarely set the literary world on fire. Though it does occasionally happen (see: Jhumpa Lahiri or Carmen Maria Machado), I am not remotely deluded enough to expect or even wish for anything of the kind. As debuts go, the stakes are pretty low here. I will be happy to earn-out my (tiny) advance and make a small profit for my publisher and myself.
Is this a realistic goal? Who knows?
Is it reasonable one? I sure hope so!
Publishing as an industry weirdly fetishizes the debut. Every year there are countless profiles and interviews written about the hottest debuting authors, as well as endless listicles that rank the most anticipated debut books. Writing conferences, workshops, MFA programs, and social media are constantly abuzz with the latest gossip about this or that debuting author’s huge advance, or envious marketing budget, or bad behavior. For debuting writers, there’s a whole cottage industry of articles and blogs and Discord groups and Substack newsletters devoted to the dos and don’ts of debuting. These offer advice on questions like: Do positive reviews still sell books? How do you grow your social media platform? Are book trailers really necessary? How much swag should you invest in? Is self-funding a book tour worthwhile? Et cetera ad infinitum.
To a certain degree, all of this attention on debuting makes sense. Readers naturally tend to be attracted to the shiniest, newest thing. For many writers, their debut book represents their first and best shot at breaking through to establish a loyal audience. Editors and marketing teams brim with enthusiasm for debuts. Reviewers and bloggers are curious to see what this new talent has to offer and tend to be slightly more generous and forgiving. Without a track record of success (or failure) to be measured against, debut authors are generally bestowed the benefit of the doubt—at least until the first sales figures come in and reality begins to take hold.
Yet, all of this fixation on debuting comes with a corresponding amount of pressure. For many writers, it can feel like everything is on the line. The goal you’ve spent your whole life working to achieve is finally happening. The urge to make the most of every second of it can be overwhelming. And so you say yes to everyone and try to do all the things: Launch events, guest posts, readings, social media, conferences, etc. After all, though you may debut only once, you don’t want it to be the only time you publish. So, not only do you feel pressure to make the experience of debuting everything you ever dreamed it would be, you also feel a different, though no less urgent pressure to do everything possible to ensure your book’s success, so that this first time at bat won’t also be the last.
It can be a lot. So much so that I personally know of debut authors who literally made themselves sick from the raw exertion of trying to do it all.
Fortunately, my low-stakes debut comes with correspondingly lower pressure. For one thing, I don’t have a six-figure advance I need to earn back. I don’t have reams of press coverage to live up to either, or a Big-Five marketing machine breathing down my neck. I’ve also been a publishing wallflower for long enough now to watch and learn from the debut experiences of numerous friends and colleagues. Thus, my hopes and expectations for The Dancing Bears are firmly planted in the soil of reality. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, my next two books are already in the pipeline: One (my debut anthology as contributing editor), comes out in May, while the other has yet to be announced. So, at least I know that the fate of my next project isn’t contingent upon the performance of this one.
And yet, even with the stakes about as low as they can get, I’m still a nervous wreck. Just ask my poor husband who has to live with me and has been enduring my moodiness, short temper, and general distraction with the forbearance of a saint. (Trust me, there are not enough Thank Yous and Sorries in the world for debuting writers to give to their long-suffering better halves.) Anxiety about this day has been a steady hum in the background of my life for months. I’ve lost countless hours of sleep to it, and countless more hours of should-be-writing time worrying about all the things I ought to be doing. Should I contact more bloggers and reviewers to pitch my book? Should I post more often on social media? Should I arrange for more readings and in-person events? It’s been impossible to escape the dreadful certainty that no matter how much I do, it’s never going to be enough. And honestly, it isn’t enough and never can be. Not if the goal is to guarantee success. I simply cannot force people to pay attention to me and my book no matter how many readings I give, slick Canva graphics I create, or chirpy memes I post. Even major publishers, with their enormous resources and the will to invest them, can only conjure an infinitesimal number of bestsellers from the literally hundreds of thousands of books published each year. Mostly, that kind of success comes down to luck, timing, and word-of-mouth: things of which no author, no matter how large their platform or savvy their marketing skill, has any control over. After all, attention is our most precious and finite resource these days. The competition for it is mind-boggling. As a writer, it’s humbling to realize that your book is not only up against similar books for the eyeballs of readers, but also Netflix and Instagram and Final Fantasy and YouTube and Yellowstone and the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe and, and, and…
It’s a wonder anybody reads anything anymore.
Again, it can be a lot. And at times it has felt like a lot. But still, I am thrilled to be published, proud of my book, and hopeful that it will find readers who love it. That’s all that I can reasonably expect from myself and the world.
And so, if there’s one overriding emotion that I’m feeling today it’s this: acceptance. I have accepted that this is my debut experience. There won’t be a big, splashy bookstore launch, because I don’t want one. Instead, my friend Jo Knowles has graciously offered to host a Zoom event with me to celebrate the release of this book. (It’s free! We hope that you will join us!)
I’ve also accepted that The Dancing Bears probably won’t appear on any most-anticipated lists or become a New York Times bestseller, although I’ve been lucky to receive a handful of generous blurbs from some of my favorite writers, and at least one rave from a reviewer. I will do all the events and promotion I can do. I will post as often on social media as feels appropriate. I will hope for the best from Goodreads reviewers and try not to pull my hair out when their comments are less than enthusiastic.
But mostly, I will make my peace with being ignored. Because that is the fate of the vast majority of books and writers.
Acceptance. It’s hardly the emotion most people associate with a dream coming true. But it feels like the one most appropriate for me today. I wrote the best book I could write (at the time), and now that it’s out in the world, I have accepted that it will either sink or swim (or bob along just below the surface) all on its own. I will do whatever I can do to keep it afloat, but the rest is out of my hands.
In community,
Rob
Announcements:
Online Course with Jennifer!
This online, on-demand, self-paced course, hosted by the Highlights Foundation, could be called “Everything Jennifer Jacobson Knows About Writing a Novel!” It’s divided into four hour-long prerecorded sessions. They are: DESIRE, DENSITY, DOPAMINE, and DERRING-DO. This course is designed to give you tools and knowledge to create an emotionally impactful novel. Cost: $129.
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Comics Workshop with Jo!
This five-day workshop with instructors Jo Knowles and Glynnis Fawkes explores the fundamentals of creating relatable young characters and coming of age stories. Through a series of generative exercises and workshops, students will mine childhood/adolescent memories in writing and drawing comics for the fast-expanding YA and Middle Grade market.
The workshop will additionally address specific aspects of writing for young people, including strategies of telling stories with heart, mechanics of making exciting comics, and the process of publishing. Many past attendees have said this course creates a warm community that lasts long after the week is over.
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The R(ev)ise and Shine! Residency
And don’t forget, we’re accepting applications now through May 1, 2024 for the inaugural R(ev)ise and Shine! Residency, to be held Augist 31 thru September 3, 2024 at the Highlights Foundation in Milanville, PA. Take advantage of a full schedule of lectures, targeted writing exercises, one-on-one meetings with mentors, face time with an agent, and other group activities. Our special guests will be the amazing agent and author Eric Smith, and the renowned illustrator and artist, James Ransome. All attendees will have their own private room/cabin, and will enjoy gourmet, chef-prepared meals.
The cost is $1999.00, including room, board, and programming.
We’re also awarding one $500 scholarship to a Black or Indigenous writer.
A tentative schedule of events and detailed lecture/workshop descriptions are available on our website.
Applications have already begun to arrive so don’t wait until the last minute! Feel free to drop any questions you have into the comments or reach out to us via the contact form on our website.
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Yay! Congratulations! Hope you can take a pause and celebrate today! and then go back to all the worries etc… if you must