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.
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.
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.
I’ve got nothing. I re-read a lot, which is lovely and comforting, but doesn’t give me any new books to recommend. Of the new (to me) books I tried, some got a red-stamped DNF. I’m beginning to suspect that some authors are inserting AI-generated text in to pad out their books or to write what the author considers a non-critical scene.
***Note from me: ALL scenes are critical or they shouldn’t be in your book!***
Or maybe I just had a hyper-critical month?
I have been listening to a few podcasts. The Red Line podcast is back with an indepth take on international affairs. Currently, I have its Middle Corridor (Central Asia) episode queued for listening.
Bloomberg’s Odd Lots episodes are financially focused, but very informative. There was an episode a while back on running a restaurant in New York. Fascinating. Still in the field of economics, Economics Explained is awesome.
Robin Ince has resigned from the BBC, so he and Brian Cox are no longer presenting the Infinite Monkey Cage. Old episodes are well worth a listen. Science and comedy. Wil Anderson (an Australian comedian) interviews comedians about life in Wilosophy (I listen depending on which comedian).
“Empty courtesy” is an old-fashioned term for an act of routine politeness, which is devoid of emotional investment. As the opposite of rudeness, it could be defined as caring. It’s not, though. It is, instead, a means of moving smoothly through the world. It could be as simple as a person saying, “I’m sorry”, when they’re not and they have no intention of altering their (mis)behavior.
In many circumstances, empty courtesy is sufficient to sustain superficial relationships and business and social dealings.
However, for people who want genuine relationships and genuine change, empty courtesy is a frustrating brick wall. They bounce off it, and, if they’re smart, they’ll go and look elsewhere to have their needs met.
AI-generated communications are the equivalent of empty courtesy. They meet the social requirements, but without engaging at a deeper level. For many people that is exactly what they want. I find this shocking, but I’m growing to accept that the emotional dullness of AI meets, even satisfies, many people’s fear of others and of change.
For those who want a deeper connection, I think we need to coin a term that signals that there is a person at the other end of a communication or creative endeavor who is also seeking connection. People are trying out human, genuine, non-AI, and other terms. I think the buzzword of a few years ago, authenticity, has fallen by the wayside.
Artisan became the descriptor for specialty or craft, rather than mass-produced, items.
I’m not keen on calling myself an artisanal (as in non-AI) author, but maybe “guilded” as in belonging to the collective or community that is authors and readers. I don’t think that’s quite the term either, but I am keen to see how we express this opposite of empty courtesy in the creative arts and communication more broadly.
Metrics are simplified expressions of complex concepts. For instance, it’s difficult to measure happiness. Is your neighbor happier than you? Well, which one of you went on vacation in the last six months? Obviously, that person is happier. No? Well, how would you measure happiness? Birth of a child? The start of a new relationship or the enduring of a relationship? Possessing the time, money, and energy to pursue a hobby?
Where you can’t directly measure and compare something, metrics become a substitute. An inadequate one, I’d argue, and one with the potential to distort your understanding of the world, and hence, your behaviour.
The problem is that metrics are easier to live with than the uncertainty of the complex concepts they mask, so people rely on them. The advertizing industry encourages you to do so. Think back a few decades to the cigarette brand Marlborough and their Marlborough Man. How did you measure, and hence, demonstrate your manliness? Why, you smoked Marlboroughs, and the more, the manlier (okay, maybe I’m exaggerating “the more the manlier”, but am I?).
Simplified metrics are applied and shared (how else to compare yourself to others) far readier than engaging in reflective discourse. This means that the person (politician, salesperson, religious leader, etc) who can produce and communicate a metric that simplifies and reassures (via its banishment of complexity and moral dilemmas) will dominate public understanding of a concept, and hence, direct the behaviour surrounding it.
As Mark Twain said, there are “lies, damned lies, and statistics.” What we measure shapes our society and our individual lives.
As an author, the metric that matters is the number of books I sell. This is not a metric that measures the quality of my books or my success. Other people would argue that sales do, indeed, define success. No. I choose to define success as whether my books resonate with readers, and I measure that (informally) by readers’ messages, their reviews, and by pre-orders for the next book (which, yes, is a percentage of sales), also by word of mouth recommendations (and my books, or my marketing of my books, falls down on this last point).
The reason I separate success from sales, but still call sales the metric that matters, is because sales determine whether I can continue as an author. It is a metric that decides my future (and unfortunately, it is influenced by Amazon’s algorithms and other mysteries as much as by my efforts). However, it does not define my success as an author or my happiness.
Enemies to lovers is a popular trope in romance and all its spin-offs, most notably romantasy. Who doesn’t enjoy a rival romance? But I think an underdeveloped aspect of it will be drawn out over the next few years, that of the vengeance or punishment element of a nemesis. People want retribution stories as well as a redemption arc.
So, we’ll have nemeses to lovers as a growing trope with the initial conflict, the bitter frustration, the resentment of their own feelings, and then, the decision to choose mercy and hope and move forward.
Justice is a complicated subject. Fiction has a powerful role to play in providing ways of seeing the world and emotional frameworks for processing it.
Nemeses to lovers is a trope that doesn’t require us to defeat our enemies with violence. I’m eagerly anticipating how authors will find a path from fury and grief to healing, hope, and love.
Finally, I finished Money. A Story of Humanity by David McWilliams. That it took me so long isn’t a reflection on the book. It’s an excellent overview of the history of money, of how currency facilitated trade, connection, and development. It also covers a bit about current and future issues (ahem, crypto).
Now, I’m reading Killing the Dead by John Blair. It’s all about vampires (and some other undead) across time and place. Different cultures, similar preoccupations. How do we handle fear, death, and otherness?
Speaking of (or to) the undead, I discovered Mercury Raine: Ghost Broker by Sarah M Eden and was beguiled by its ghostly premise. I need to read book 2!
I also enjoyed an older Mills & Boon romance, Hitched! by Jessica Hart with upper class characters, but genuine warmth and emotional growth. It felt more like a condensed chicklit novel than a category romance.
Occasionally, people ask me for writing advice. Over the years my response has changed. When I started off, oh my goodness, everything was amazing and I wanted to share the possibilities. They seemed endless and they were all so good. But the more you learn, the less you know! Now, my advice boils down to “everyone’s path is their own”.
I’m aware that it sounds like a cop out. It’s not. It means that where you’re starting from on your writing and publishing journey, your motivations, your goals, the ethical choices you’ll make (and the compromises), your definition of success, and for how long writing remains a priority will be unique to you and will change over time.
There are a lot of free and paid resources for writers. When you have a question, you can find an answer. Reflect not just on what you’re creating, but where it (and the process of creation) fits in your life. Choose what you give to writing and value what you receive from it.
All of that said, I’m not a meanie. If you’d like good writing advice and a vetted list of writing and publishing support services, I recommend Jane Friedman’s website as a starting point. I’m also happy to receive other recommendations, so if you have a book or course or whatever that has been helpful to you on your writing journey, feel free to mention it in the comments.
Welp. Readying a book for a paperback edition is as time and energy intensive as I thought it would be. I finally did it, though. Stars Die is now available in paperback! Paperback editions of Hexes Fly and Rogues Lie are underway.
After researching my options I chose the easiest path to getting my books into paperback, which turns out to be remaining in Amazon’s scary embrace. So, I have Amazon-supplied ISBNs and the process of Amazon linking the digital editions to the paperback editions ought to go smoothly. Ought.
I thought I’d pull back the curtain a little on what went on behind the scenes over the last couple of months. (I’ll spare you my muttering, squinting, and violent stabs at the keyboard and screen). Basically, I wanted to share the pricing screen with you.
The books in my current series, Caldryn Parliament, average around 90,000 words and I’ve priced the digital editions at $4.99 (all pricing in US dollars). When someone buys a digital copy, Amazon takes 30% of the list price, leaving me with roughly $3.50 per book. If the book is borrowed in Kindle Unlimited I get about $2 when it’s read from cover to cover. (If my math is right. I’m having doubts. But it’s close enough).
It might seem that I earn less from Kindle Unlimited borrowed copies, but that’s not true. People borrow far more readily than they buy (and I understand because that’s me as a reader, too), so volume more than makes up for the lower price. Kindle Unlimited is crucial to my survival as an indie author. Please, please keep borrowing and reading my books in Kindle Unlimited!
Now, to the paperback edition.
Remember, getting the formating right was a pain in the beep. And for all that effort, and by raising the price to $12.99 (slightly above Amazon’s minimum of $9.99 retail price), I get a whopping $3.06. Yup, that’s less than when someone buys the digital version. And if they buy from outside Amazon, via Expanded Distribution, I get … $0.46.
So, yes, I want paperback editions available in the interests of accessibility (which is the same reason I compromised and used Amazon’s virtual voice to provide text-to-speech editions since I can’t afford (money, time, energy) to produce professional audiobooks right now). However, financially, I’m better off writing the next book. It’s certainly far more enjoyable!
Okay. I’ll let the curtain fall back and hide the reality of publishing once more.
I love being an indie author. I’m incredibly grateful to be living this life. But it does include hard choices.
For now, I intend to release paperback editions of all eight Caldryn Parliament novels, probably a month or three after the digital editions. However, until I have a lot bigger breathing space, I won’t be bringing my backlist into paperback.
