Author: Jenny Schwartz

  • Bad Actors Damaging the Book Community

    a cubist painting of a destroyed book

    A while ago now I posted about scammers using AI to target authors; i.e. give us money to edit, market, review your book, to participate in a non-existent conference, to be interviewed or featured on a podcast, and the list goes on. The scammers claim to be famous authors or that other authors are using their services. They’re also targeting book reviewers. I’ve heard some people suggest that authors are a soft target and that having refined their tactics on us, the scammers will go after other professionals. I think they’ll also go after hobbyists because that’s where we’re, perhaps, less critical and more likely to spend money to feel good about ourselves and our work.

    Anyways, this is just to say be very, very careful of anyone contacting you whom you don’t know. It’s also to explain why I’m very wary and often don’t respond to a private message. If you’ve messaged me and haven’t heard back, please comment on a public post. You don’t have to say anything important, just let me know that you’ll be sending me a message.

    I hate how AI-empowered scammers have further eroded trust and communication. By being as transparent as possible about the problem, I hope our community here continues to grow. It’s why I have comments set to manual approval. I cannot tell you how much it annoys me that we can’t comment and reply to each other in real time, but keeping this space safe is the priority.

    (If you’d like more information, the Writer Beware site run by Victoria Strauss is always to be trusted).

  • Recent Reads – May 2026

    a cubist painting of a library nook

    I did a lot of comfort re-reading this month, but I also enjoyed a couple of new fantasy novels and a more challenging non-fiction book. One of my re-reads was This Kingdom Will Not Kill Me by Ilona Andrews. The second read-through let me savor the cleverness of the plot. I’m contemplating a third read-through just because.

    Calculated Whisk by Lindsay Buroker is the first book in her new series, Tales from the Dragon Diner. Like all first books it had to establish characters, world-building, and the series conflict, and it did so without slowing down the pace or interfering with its cozy, bantering vibe. I’ll be reading book 2, Knead for Speed, to enjoy the next adventure.

    A Fractured Conclave by Vanessa Nelson wrapped up a six book urban fantasy series of the same title. I enjoyed the thriller aspect of this series, the sense of time running out and secrets revealed. A skip tracer was a great choice for the heroine, and she became so much more.  

    Prophecy: Prediction, Power and the Fight for the Future, from Ancient Oracles to AI by Carissa Veliz was an eye-opener; an excellent combination of philosophical and practical analysis of how predictions affect our lives. They are everywhere, and it was confronting to realize how many predictive assumptions underpin daily life.

    How was your reading month?

  • The Neuroscience of It All

    A cubist painting of a brain with books in it

    I skimmed an interview with the Director of the Stanford Educational Neuroscience Initiative, Bruce McCandliss, on how we learn to read (and why some struggle).

    I admit, I wasn’t reading it as someone trying to teach a child to read, but rather as someone fascinated by how the written word changes our brain. Apparently, reading hijacks the brain’s commitment to perceptual expertise. Letters are a puzzle that we solve, and then, new worlds open to us.

    Or as the interview presents it: the developing reader crosses a threshold and suddenly, “You’re in this mental space with someone (the author) that depends on the transparency of the words.”

    My goal when I write fiction is that the words fade away and readers simply exist in an imagined world. It seems this is precisely the goal. I feel validated (even as I apologise sincerely for using that piece of jargon. Validated. Ugh).

    Words are magic. Playing with them and making them sing is vital. But the magic is when that singing creates a world. The brain lights up!

    Marketers are especially focused on when our brains light up.

    This second neuroscience link I wanted to share with you is from the American Marketing Association, Inside the Consumer Brain: How Neuroscience Can Predict Ad Enjoyment by Ceylin Petek Ertekin and Elvira Tolen.

    A key finding was that while emotion is a great hook…

    The sustained predictiveness of social cognition signals suggests that when viewers connect with characters or scenarios meaningfully, they remain receptive to information for longer periods. In essence, our neural findings support what many creative advertisers intuitively understand: stories that foster social connection and meaning will likely lead to the best results, creating a receptive context where product information feels relevant rather than being intrusive.

    We come back to last month’s theme of storytelling. People want to feel, and foster, their sense of belonging.

    I’m coming to believe that our brains are storytellers and that we derive great satisfaction (and survive) when at an unconscious level those stories are shared. If our group inhabits the same (imaginary) world, then we’re more likely to act cohesively. In fact, it might be that the nature of our perceptual expertise is defined by the stories of our group. We value reading, and so, children are taught perceptual expertise regarding letters.

    Perhaps the tension between “us” and “them” is always a matter of clashing stories; a fact obscured by the power differentials that send some stories underground.

  • Fiction as a Break from Uncertainty

    a torn cubist painting of a farmland landscape

    A couple of weeks ago I recommended Rory Sutherland’s book, Alchemy. The Surprising Power of Ideas that Don’t Make Sense. One of the big challenges it raised was uncertainty and how strongly people avoid it, being willing to embrace a less good certainty rather than risk a possibly brilliant uncertainty. Moreover, we will pay more (and remember that payment is more than money. It includes our time and effort) for certainty.

    I have thought and thought about this, particularly in relation to novels and publishing, and my conclusion (or one of them) is that novels’ appeal is that they connect us with people in a meaningful way.

    In real life people’s actions often don’t make sense. Sometimes they confound us. But in a well-crafted novel, people are explicable. This is incredibly relaxing. It soothes us emotionally because the cognitive dissonance of real life, of people saying one thing and doing something else and us not understanding WHY is removed. There can be a degree of uncertainty in a novel, we can even revel in a complicated plot that leaves us with questions, but fundamentally we engage with a novel because we trust in its ability to reduce the uncertainty of life to a meaningful story.

  • Reading Journeys

    a picture of a stack of books reaching into the sky

    A month ago the American Public Libraries Association held its annual conference. I haven’t read any reports on it. (If you know of any good write-ups, please share). But I was very much taken by their promotional material for the conference. On their website they encouraged attendees to consider structuring the conference experience via sample journeys, “…designed to help you get oriented, spark ideas, and consider the range of possibilities. … Think of these journeys as a starting point, not a rigid script.” Such sample journeys included Community Engagement, Small and Rural Librarians, and Youth and Family Champions.

    Which started me thinking, do we have reading journeys?

    Would it be interesting or appalling for an author to suggest a book (or selection of books) to be read before and after their own book? The books suggested before and after the author’s book could provide different journeys by emphasizing different aspects of the central book.

    I’m curious if anyone is doing this, if it’s a gut-check “no” for you when you read of the idea, or if I’ve been living under a rock and there’s an app for it. (There’s always an app ::insert long-suffering, cynical sigh:: )

  • Recent Reads – April 2026

    a cubist painting of a cat reading a book in front of a fireplace

    In Flint in the Bones Eva St. John introduced a fabulous new world. I think that Fire in the Flint, the second book in the Norwich Map Runners series, is even better. With the world established there was more room for the characters and mystery. I’m looking forward to Blood in the Maps, out in November.

    After waiting FOREVER for This Kingdom Will Not Kill Me by Ilona Andrews I read it in a day and was blown away by how it built. Layer upon layer of world building and character introductions leading to very effective plot twists. It’s definitely going on my re-read shelf, and I want the next book now!

    I picked up a new release by SeanS3r3s, and while the strange author name didn’t fill me with confidence, the comedic narrative voice appealed to me and I enjoyed the Overpowered Demon Lord Slayer: An OP MC Slice of Life LitRPG. I’ll be reading book 2 in May.

    KM Shea stepped back from writing for a couple of years to deal with some health issues. Her books are among my comfort re-reads, so I waited hopefully that she’d be able to return to writing. She is doing so, but very carefully, while prioritizing her health. Managing the Vampire’s Mansion came out this month. It’s her only book for 2026 and it was wonderful. A warm hug of a book. I hope she continues to prioritize her health and I’ll be joyously happy if we get any more books from her.

    I picked up a vintage British mystery by E C R Lorac, Still Waters. Books like this, written as very contemporary mysteries which have now passed into the historical mystery category by virtue of decades passing, are compelling windows into the past. Post-war Britain, its fears, constraints, and hopes are laid out, albeit for a comfortably middle class ideal.

    In non-fiction, I read Alchemy. The Surprising Power of Ideas that Don’t Make Sense by Rory Sutherland. It left me with so much to think about. I haven’t clarified my ideas yet, so I’ll just leave you with a few quotes. Although I have to say that the discussion of uncertainty left me thinking about the criticism some people offer regarding mystery and romance novels; that they’re formulaic. Yes, and that’s why they’re the topselling genres! Uncertainty is reduced to a manageable and enjoyable level.

    “If you are wholly predictable, people learn to hack you.”

    “The reason we don’t always behave in a way which corresponds with conventional ideas of rationality is not because we are silly: it is because we know more than we know we know.”

    “…it is borne out in many fields of decision science. We will pay a disproportionately high premium for the elimination of a small degree of uncertainty – why this matters so much is that it finally explains the brand premium that consumers pay.”

    “This is essentially a heuristic – a rule of thumb. The more reputational capital a seller stands to lose, the more confident I am in their quality control.” [I’m thinking about this as an independent author, which means, in effect, that I’m an independent, one-author publisher. A traditional publisher, having a stable of authors, can have an author screw up. I can’t afford to. So, for indie authors who are in this game for the long haul—and I’ve been in it for over a decade now—every book carries reputational risk and weight.]

  • Storytellers as Retellers

    a cubist painting of a rainbow serpent

    Myths are a vital part of a society’s glue. They help define who we are and who we are not, where we came from, and maybe where we’re going.

    I’m Australian, but not First Nations. I grew up with a very limited understanding of the stories, the myths, that created our land for thousands of years. The Rainbow Serpent might have been my first introduction to the Dreaming.

    Storytellers retell old stories. Sometimes they’re myths or support myths. Sometimes they’re family-bonding memories.

    Little children often force us to re-read the same book every night because there is comfort in familiar stories. They are a shelter.

    Sometimes I wonder if one of the most radical acts of defiance is to retell old stories, holding steady to their truth while the world is in tumult.

    The stories we tell reveal our values and define who we become.

  • Storytellers are Sponges

    a cubist painting of an underwater garden with a sponge

    Storytellers are constantly absorbing impressions: the sights, sounds, smells, and vibe of the world. What is becomes what could be. Meaning is extracted and communicated.

    But the problem with being a sponge is that you soak up a lot of negativity.

    Australia has a classic anti-smoking ad where a sponge is squeezed to show the tar from smoking cigarettes dropping disgustingly into a beaker.

    For some storytellers, that tar (all the heartbreak and suffering in the world) is squeezed out to become a bleak portrayal of survival and resistance. Sometimes that very bleakness becomes a rallying cry.

    But for me, I don’t want to pass on the negativity. It stops with me. The stories I tell are about good people inhabiting interesting, hopeful worlds. Conflict is part of life, but it can be positive not simply destructive. My stories push back against the negativity I’ve absorbed.

    The lungs as sponges metaphor is useful because one of the cures for the world’s negativity is to breathe the fresh air of joy. So, I search out stories of hope and resilience: the scientists assembling building blocks of knowledge to solve our problems; communities caring for each other; cute animal pictures, all the wonder that exists beyond the negativity and which will outlast it and prevail.

  • Storyteller – A Builder of Bridges

    a painting of a bridge over a country river with winter on one side and summer on the other

    A storyteller is a bridge between the past and the future. In a sense the present is unknowable. We experience it, but we understand it as the past or as the future.

    I know you’re saying, “How can we understand the present as the future?”

    Take a moment to think about it. When we were living in what is now the past, what is now the present was a possible future.

    Pause with that thought while neuroscience comes rushing in to explain why this is important.

    Our expectations shape our perceptions.

    Therefore, what we believed in the past (creating our expectations) shapes what we believe we’ll experience in the future, and because expectations are so powerful that they literally shape our perception, the present moment is defined (to some degree) by what our past self expected of the future.

    Have I muddled you? Do you think I need more coffee and a brisk walk in the fresh air? (Yes, yes, I do).

    A storyteller takes the past and the future and provides a meaningful link between them. That bridge is the present moment that we consistently experience, but seldom occupy. We are journeying in a tension between the past (learning, regretting) and the future (anticipating, planning). A strong story reduces the friction of the journey, either because the truth of the story removes any conflict between our expectations and experience, or because the emotional arousal of the story overrides the conflict and our brains pour more energy into shaping our perception to match the story.

    We are each our own storyteller, but our stories can be influenced by determined external storytellers. People who tell us we’re weak can train us to tell ourselves the same story. Or perhaps they’ll tell us that we’re trapped, and then, we’ll tell ourselves that we’ll never scale our metaphorical walls—and all the time, we never see the open door. Storytellers that give us strength and compassion, connection and hope are the external storytellers we should listen to and wrap into our personal story. Our journeys aren’t easy, but the bridge between the past and the future can be stronger and stranger than we currently imagine.

  • Storytelling Goes Corporate

    a cubist painting of a giant spider in its web covering an office

    In the last few months corporations and government agencies have been advertising for storytellers. The new job title might sound as if they hope to recruit the Brothers Grimm, but my take on this is that they’re actually after someone who can clarify the organization’s value and purpose, and the journey the customer/citizen will go on with them. Eve Macdonald suggests that what they actually need is an editor.

    The rise of the corporate storyteller is part of the convulsions of AI integration. The bulk of the deliverables of a marketing campaign can be produced by AI (or so its proponents promise). This means a hollowing out of marketing agencies and departments. Graphic design, statistical analysis, social media moderation, all of it is being buffeted by claims that AI can do it—not necessarily better—but cheaper, and perhaps, faster and more personalized. Once the system is in place, the AI agent can handle it. ::insert doubtful hum::

    But for the system to work, and for corporate leadership to believe in it and fund it, there must be clarity about what it will deliver. In short, what consistent, coherent story must it tell? How will the organization know that the AI agent is staying on message? And when the environment changes, how must the story change?

    Corporations and government agencies are really hoping to employ spiders. These are rare people who consume vast amounts of information and connection, and can filter it for meaning and a meaningful response. Sitting at the center of a web of incoming and outgoing information they influence perception of the organization internally as well as externally. The CEO is the public face, the schmoozer, and the one who makes decisions (depending on how active the board/government minister is). The spider, or storyteller, is the one who ensures the clarity of vision and consistency of message that the CEO sells.

    Guess what? As an indie author, spider is now another hat for me to wear. It’s actually useful because it validates efforts I already undertake: studying the market, anticipating social trends, keeping up with new technology and publishing platforms, and communicating my own perspective on these things.

    To be honest, I’m not a very good spider. If I was then I’d have a one sentence answer to the question: why does anyone need my books?

    But I’m working on that puzzle. Why, in your seventy years of life (if we accept the biblical three score years and ten for the sake of rhetorical flair), would you invest hours of it to journeying with my characters and exploring my imaginary worlds?

    Perhaps the corporate world is right and the answer is that a storyteller creates a solid path forward, out of the confusion that is reality. A good storyteller provides hope.