I usually read Jane Friedman’s Electric Speed newsletters soon after they arrive in my inbox. Not just because I like her straightforward, thoughtful ideas. (If you’re not familiar with Jane, her newsletter was awarded Media Outlet of the Year in 2020.) Besides, she makes me laugh! (I learned, a few months ago, when Jane posted writers’ suggestions for the best adjustable laptop stands, that I’m not the only writer who eschews those contraptions in favor of stacked cardboard boxes or encyclopedias that allow me to position my camera just so for Zoom calls!)
In her newest post, on Newsletter best practices, she admitted she doesn’t always abide the rules on email length, or subscriber retention rates.
“…what’s more important to me is sustainability. I’m only willing to do what I can reasonably sustain for years. I alone am responsible for staving off my own burnout.”
I read her thoughts just after releasing my newest novel, Stars in Their Infancy. I was caught up in the dizzies I get into when a book launches or when I have what seems an impossible deadline. I was checking Amazon almost hourly.
- Had new reviews come in?
- Were my ratings all five-star?
- Was the money I invested on ads and bargain site giveaways paying off?
- Would I ever receive adequate compensation for my work, years in the making?
There were questions from friends, too.
- How were sales?
- What podcasts was I on?
Come on, I thought, the book’s been out a week! In response, I dodged their questions. “Traffic’s building.’ The next promotion runs on Tuesday….”
Why I write
Jane’s forthright thoughts on sustainability settled me down. I wrote to her for the first time, thanking her for reminding me that, if I want to continue writing, I need to allow my work to unfold on its own timeline. And to remain faithful that my work will find its audience.
The peace I made with those thoughts reminded me of an encounter after I made a presentation at a Connecticut college. My novel had been required in contemporary fiction classes. After my reading and Q&A, a woman approached at the podium. At first, she avoided my eyes. Then she couldn’t hold back tears. “For the first time,” she said, “after I read your book, I knew I didn’t cause my son’s suicide. It was the drugs.”
The woman took my breath away. Not just because of the tragedy she had suffered. But also because, when I first put fingers to keyboard to write that book, I didn’t worry about how many books I would sell. I only focused on the words I was given (Yes, I believe my words flow from a source, a power greater than myself), and how they might make at least one person’s journey lighter. We hugged, mission accomplished.
