Get a Book Deal® Tip: Adding Depth to Your Manuscript

There is a trend in self-publishing toward speed of writing and brevity. How fast is too fast? How short is too short? What makes either approach appropriate or successful?

Years ago, when I was an in-house acquisitions editor at a major publishing house, we had a weekly editorial meeting where editors from the level of associate editor up to editorial director would gather in a conference room around a large table and talk about the submissions we'd each had that week: both the projects we were and weren't interested in acquiring. 

One of the benefits of those editorial meetings was watching trends in subject matter: We could see how similar ideas proposed by different writers would gain and lose momentum in the culture. Another was learning how our colleagues at the company were making their decisions. I loved hearing the questions and standards that each person used to assess content.

"This feels like a magazine article."

"Why do I need this? The promise is not clear to me."

"It's a good idea, but something is missing."

Back then, we were in the "stone age" of computers. I remember how my boss actually refused to give me access to the Internet when I requested it, even though our building was wired for it, because she wanted only her own assistant to be able to surf the web. (She was a bit of a control freak and clearly shortsighted.) I had one of the first laptops in the office, weighing 14 pounds, which I carried back and forth from home to office on one shoulder, with a tote bag containing about 50 pounds of hard-copy submissions on the other, every morning and night. The concept of a digital submission was not on the radar screen. 

When I left that company and built a website to serve as my resume, people were shocked that I could be so "unprofessional."

Are you chuckling along with me? It seems funny and enthralling when you consider how much our cultural expectations have changed in the last couple of decades--and if you believed publishers would be at the forefront of change, or even that they should be, you'd be half right-half wrong. 

A publisher without the content created by writers is a non-entity. However, as readers we require publishers to exercise quality control over the products we buy from them. From day 1, that's been the role of the acquisitions editor. In-house editors have to weed the manuscripts in their in-boxes to find the ones that merit strong consideration for publication.

Flash forward to the digital era, in which writers can bypass corporate publishing operations. Do-it-yourself (DIY) is alive and well, and we writers have been served all the technology we need to adjudicate our own standards on a golden platter. As our own publishers we have to learn to ask ourselves those great editorial questions--or do what my clients do, which is hire an editor who knows some good questions to ask and answer. Most writers need good editors.

Back to this article's leading questions: speed and brevity. 

Rapid writing, in general, comes from using formulas or templates to establish the framework for your content (ideas/words) or from adapting spoken/recorded material to the page. This is most appropriate for books where the aim is not to push the envelope of the author's knowledge and expertise very far. What the writer knows on the day the idea comes is basically what ends up on the printed page or screen.  

Fast is too fast if the idea would be improved by doing additional research, getting feedback from focus groups, or conducting a series of interviews with relevant individuals. Those are three excellent ways to add depth and originality to a manuscript that do slow down the writing process.

The beauty of digital publishing and DIY publishing is that you can set the purchase price of your offering low. A relatively narrow idea--one that would be too long for a magazine article, brochure, or blog post and is too short to sustain or flesh out over the course of many chapters--can be distributed on a device that doesn't change shape no matter what word count you reach. Let's say your book is a "short" or a "single" that's intended to be 10,000-15,000 words. That's okay because you can do full justice to the idea and then put it on sale for $2.99 or $4.99. Your manuscript preparation period is shortened; nonetheless you can still go deeply into the concept.

Adding depth to a manuscript makes it more valuable. By "depth" I mean layers and facets. I've been re-reading Flow by Mihaly Csikszentmihaly, a book with tremendous depth. The source for his masterpiece was a research study of many years, investigating individuals over the age of 60 who were recognized by peers in their own fields as high achievers and innovators. He wanted to find out what made them so innovative and respected. He defines Creativity with a capital "C" as culture-transforming (as opposed to brilliance, which is creative on a personal level): before creation, things are done/thought one way; after it, another. He discovered that an interchange with the culture is necessary for Creativity. Conditions engender it.

Editorially, I believe what I look for in the depth of manuscripts is that creative edge of innovation. Here are three questions that could lead to more depth in your own work.

"Do I have/am I expressing fresh insights? What sparked them?"

"Where could more interactivity happen?"

"What conditions called for this innovation?"

Every book is born from the desire to express and connect. Few are masterpieces. Rightly so, few books are celebrated as culturally transformative. This does not mean that other books fail to deliver on their promises. They do deliver, just not at the same level. Understanding the proper scope and depth of our work is an assessment we writers must make when we write.

NEW Bestselling Book Out: WHY Wait? The Baby Boomers' Guide to Preparing Emotionally, Financially, and Legally for a Parent's Death by Carolyn Brent

TODAY: Carolyn A. Brent’s new book Why Wait? launches on Amazon and immediately rises to the top of the bestseller lists in the categories of Aging, Eldercare, Personal Health/Aging, and Grief/Bereavement.

To support Carolyn in the launch of this important book, many of us have come together to offer a wonderful collection of FR*EE gifts, including one from me, which are yours when you buy the book on the day of the launch.

To buy Carolyn’s book, and receive all these free gifts, go to: http://babyboomersguide.org/book. On that page, you will be able to buy the book and claim all your bonus gifts.

Based upon the feedback Carolyn’s been receiving, this book will prove to be a welcome addition to the bookshelves of many thousands of Baby Boomers who are currently facing the overwhelming job of having to care for their aging (and ill) parents. The book provides the reader with a wealth of practical information and resources, as well as an eye-opening account of the emotional aspects of care giving. It is Carolyn’s hope that this book will spare families the unnecessary heartache that happens all too often when they are faced with the difficult decisions of who will care for their parents, and what kind of care is best for them.

On behalf of Carolyn, thank you for supporting her in this launch. I know you will enjoy the book, and the wonderful gifts being offered as well.

What Can Writers Learn from the New York Marathon?

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Back in 2006, I ran the New York Marathon. It changed my life. For years, I would go to the finish line and find myself with moist eyes, tearing up from looking at the faces of the people completing the race. Then I ran it and it was an even more emotional and esteem-building experience than I'd imagined. This Sunday, there I was, back in Central Park, watching it again. I live about a block away from the park so I feel intimately involved in the marathon experience.

This year the weather was optimal: sunny and cool. The top three male finishers all beat the course record. They ran in a pack until the last four or five miles. The women's race was much more interesting. A few miles in, one woman, Mary Keitany of Kenya, took the lead and ran most of the way without any serious competition. Then a follower caught up to her and passed her in the last two miles to win the race: Firehiwot Dado. Then a second woman passed Keitany and won second place. All these women gave a spectacular performance. I feel so inspired by their example!



We can draw lessons from the Marathon for how we conduct our creative lives.

How is writing a book like a marathon? First, let's say we do put our hearts out there and step ahead of the pack. If we are the one who is taking the lead in a particular subject area, we may feel alone. The people watching may ask if we are making a mistake to set ourselves apart with no one to pace us. They may not know the conditions we sense that inform us internally that the way we are racing is appropriate. Common wisdom is that we should only do the same as others. On the sidelines, they'll wonder if we have the stamina to finish the race we have defined for ourselves. Some will cheer for us, hoping we can pull it off. Some will hope we crash and burn. The lone runner out in front of the herd has to run in a manner that's based on instinct, training, and intention. It definitely takes heart and will power to be out front on your own.

Writers and entrepreneurs define our own goals. It's vital that we sense the rightness of our own speed for the distance we are traveling. How can we run the best race in stride with our purpose, abilities, and resources? In some respects we are visionaries and must learn to see the course in front of us through our own eyes. No one can run the race for us. It's a moment by moment experience. They can't live our lives; they cannot write our books. Even when I have worked as a ghostwriter, I could not define the vision for my clients, because at the end of the day I had to pass the material over to them to market. They had to live it as their truth and use it to help them realize their goals, not mine. I have great respect for the boundaries involved in ghostwriting.

When I write my own books, the parameters around my achievement are self-motivated. That's different. Often I see opportunities where others do not. Dare I run the course with those ideas? How far am I willing to go--and how fast--without being surrounded by peers? Can I sustain my vision and bring it to completion under my own steam? I don't enter the race of every idea.

Second, even if we are not in the lead on an idea, we must nonetheless trust that we can win the race we've set for ourselves. If we keep putting one foot in front of the other as writers, we eventually cross the finish line. There are rewards for coming in first, yes. But this does not detract from the rewards of running the race for its own sake. Or, like Firehiwot Dado, coming along second while we're putting a book together on a familiar subject does not mean we won't win in the end.

Third, we sometimes need help to cross the line. One of the most moving moments on Sunday was when I saw a competitor who had lost the strength to complete the final half-mile lifted by four race volunteers and two policemen and carried through the remaining course and over the finish line. There was so much humanity reflected in that moment. Those volunteers understood how important it was to come that close and make it all the way, even if it was not on foot.

I saw a woman whose left knee had been taped at a first aid station hobble the final distance with a crutch in hand, determined to finish her race. I saw senior citizens finish. I saw blind people finish. I saw people in wheelchairs do the race successfully with their arms alone. Writing has its own challenges, which are not physical, but we sometimes think we can't make it because of a limitation, perceived or real, that we let stop us. It doesn't have to. And there is help available to get you across the finish line: You could hire a coach, an editor, or a writer. You could ask friends, colleagues, and family for support. You do not have to go the distance alone.

Ignorant spectators yelled out, "Go, go, go," as if the racers they saw walking across the finish line were not trying hard enough. I knew they didn't understand how walking across the line at the end of the race reflected the runners' tremendous commitment, and was the culmination of months, perhaps years, spent training. If the runners could have continued to run, they would have. They weren't "lazy" for God's sake, they had just run 26 miles! They were exhausted, depleted, spent.

For myself, I tried to be encouraging, clapping and yelling, "You're home. Good job. You can do it with a smile on your face." I understand that crossing the line is the main event, more than how you get there.

A fourth lesson from the Marathon is this: When you're writing, don't let critics and bystanders dictate how your process looks. Remember, you're doing a great and meaningful thing! You're expending the effort while they are on the sidelines. Let them lace up their own shoes and try to do better than you if they think they're so knowledgeable. Most people don't know squat!

I loved the runners who waved to the crowd and asked for applause and mutual celebration. Some raised their arms in triumph and approached the line with a smile on their faces. When they did, the spectators roared for them. It reminded me of my own ability to endure challenges. This lesson is obvious. Persistence in anything you do in life and art is a key to success. You may stagger and fall, but as long as you then crawl, walk, or otherwise move in the right direction--for writers that could be one sentence or two paragraphs at a time--you are not defeated.

Writing a book will introduce you to your own character. This is the aggregation of personality traits that make up the whole of your identity--your strengths and weaknesses, your desires and fears, your courage and ethics. Perhaps my favorite aspect of writing is discovering more about myself in the process. Doing a book is a transformational process, and it can be liberating! You can free yourself from false beliefs, embrace your shadow, and resolve your past through writing. Just as a runner meets the voice of survival that lives inside the head, so will you. You can push through "the wall" of negativity or you can succumb to its wishes. It's up to you.

Musings on Gratitude & Grace

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Gratitude is more than simple appreciation; though we can probably agree that having the feeling of thankfulness is wonderful, too. Gratitude is when we acknowledge we've received value we did nothing to earn or deserve, along with pleasant physical sensations.

We're not asked to earn those either!

The source of gratitude is unconditional giving--a gift without obligation. Between people, gratitude serves as social "glue" that bonds us and helps us evolve from being strangers to being friends.

Gratitude has healing properties: It reduces stress, shortens recovery from illness, and lifts spirits.

Gratitude is the basis of trust, faith, and optimism. The belief that the world is benevolent and our needs will be met is a steadfast ship on which to sail through life. People who fail to appreciate the value that is given to them live in a space of mental and emotional poverty. Anchored in a sea of unmet expectations, they are often unavailable for the surprises that lead to gratitude. Stuck in moments of shortage and feelings of neglect, they hold little or no space for the possibility of future happiness.

You may wonder why I've been spending so much time in recent weeks mentioning gratitude in passing in my articles. It's because I'm doing research to better understand this elixir--not because a national holiday is coming up in a few weeks. When life gets busy and people and my obligations feel demanding to me, I turn inward to the lessons of the instinctive signals built into my body. I do this because I earnestly believe life is not "supposed to," and "need not" be, a painful experience. Also because I perceive people and experiences as mirrors that reveal me to myself. Cultivating gratitude enables me in both a general way and in specific instances to flow creatively and move forward.

When I am not feeling gratitude, I notice that my work suffers. Speaking only for myself, I thrive on praise and have tremendous resistance to doing anything where appreciation is not expressed. Over the years I have therefore learned to appreciate myself and my own efforts. In the workshops I teach on authentic creativity and transformational writing, I've seen how quickly gratitude builds connection and enables people to reach for their highest vision even when they are afraid that it will elude them. So I think I am not alone in this tendency of opening my channels through praise.

The beauty of this discovery for me is that gratitude is a subjective experience. When the mirror presents itself without appreciation from outer sources, I recognize that the gratitude is not present within me. So that's when I choose to purposefully look for it, and draw a lesson from my experience. Mental and emotional constriction is always released when I am flooded with the thoughts and sensations of gratitude. Then creativity is effortless.

When I begin to push back on life, I am not there.

When I believe I am owed something, I am not there.

When I catch myself arguing for the rightness of my own point of view, I am not there.

When I feel unsafe, I am not there.

When I want to murder, I am not there.

When I choose to withhold, I am not there.

When I am judging and feeling superior, I am not there.

But I can "go there" quickly, because I am a human being and that's how we're "built."

Here's how: I just take a few conscious breaths, ask myself what I need, imagine an immediate source of fulfillment (if only in a small way), and remind myself that every seed holds the full potential of its own future and destiny. If I can find one small thing to be grateful for, I ease into being the way I like to be: open-hearted, generous, welcoming, peaceful, connected, joyful, trusting, and creative.

Gratitude is the human experience of grace. It's a sudden realization of oneness, and knowing that everything is going just as it should be. This is a non-logical, transcendent sense of belonging to something greater, something intelligent, that is acting in our best interests.