Category: Uncategorized

Meanjin

It’s pretty sad to see Meaniin being shut down, given the significance that it holds within the Australian literary landscape. 

Meanjin, for those unaware, is arguably the peak literary journal in Australia, and has presented a long-running showcase of some of the top talent in the region. Founded in 1940, Meanjin has been the kicking off point for many great writers, and has helped them connect with an array of new readers. And for many authors, it has also provided ballast within the ever-challenging literary waters, in giving them a means to find community, find voice, and set the standard for literary exploration.

But now, its publishers, the (indirectly) government-funded Melbourne University Press (MUP), have decided to end Meanjin, due to poor sales.

Or more specifically (as per MUP Chair Professor Warren Bebbington):

“The decision was made on purely financial grounds, the board having found it no longer viable to produce the magazine ongoing.”

So low sales, which no longer justify MUP’s investment in the publication. Which, given that it’s funded by Melbourne University, which recieves significant government funding, is questionable, particularly when measured against its broader cultural impact, while it’s also notable that the Australian government’s currently seeking new ways to better fund arts projects through its Creative Australia initiative, which has a dedicated (yet strikingly bare) writing specific element that, presumably, would be able to assist in supporting key platforms like Meanjin. But to be clear, the call on this did not involve the government, it’s the MUP board that has made the decision.

It’s disappointing, but it’s also not a huge surprise. The Australian literary sector has been decaying for years, with fewer people willing to commit the time and mental energy into more complex, challenging narratives, thus impacting literary sales, and re-shaping the book industry.

Like all forms of entertainment, books are fighting a losing battle against social media for attention, and literary fiction has arguably suffered the most. Which, reflecting market demand, means that many great books are not being published, and many great writers are simply not getting the opportunities they once would have. At the same time, some authors are also reforming their creative approach in order to fit into the modern market, so they can make a career out of the opportunities that remain.

The end result is a less vibrant literary ecosystem, and a less engaging literary community, which ultimately means a smaller audience for all books, and a more limited scope of concepts and ideas. The loss of Meanjin will only compound this, by giving us one less outlet for high quality writing, and one less entry point for emerging writers looking to test their skills, and find a path into book publishing.

For me, Meanjin was always a lofty goal, a benchmark to prove my literary talent. I submitted a few times, never got published (understandable, considering the names I was competing against for space), but I did make it into many other literary journals and magazines, all of which helped to assure me that I did have the talent, and that I could pursue writing as a career. 

That’s the role such publications serve. Sure, Meanjin was a showcase of the best published authors of the day, but it was also open to submissions from nobodies, people who hoped to get their name out there, and in front of a knowledgeable audience. It was a badge of honor, a prize in itself, and a lifeline for every writer who’s creating in isolation and hoping for their big break. Meanjin was part of the architecture of what had been a consistently over-performing Australian literary industry. And without it, our writing culture will be worse off, in a significant way. 

Which is pretty disheartening, and for aspiring writers, it’s a big blow, in an increasingly challenging writing landscape.

Does that mean that you should abandon your literary dreams, or maybe change what you write for market fit?

Look, there’s always going to be a level of market consideration in any writing, as you need to create stories that are going to resonate with an audience if you ever want to generate sales and make money from your work. But should you abandon literary fiction as a result of the current state?

I would say that you should write what resonates with you, and what best reflects what makes you excited about literature, in the style that you feel best enables you to communicate what you want to say. If you write a story in a style that fits, as you want to tell it, then you’ll feel it as you’re writing. And when you come back to it later, and read what you’ve written, if it then still feels like what you wanted it to be, like something that you’d like to read, then that’s the right voice, the right style, and that’s how you get to the creative expression that best represents your perspective.

Basically, it’s easy to be negative, and if you do choose to take a negative view of things, you’ll find that there’s no end to the indicators that will reinforce that view. That literature is in trouble, that your opportunities are gone, that you have no chance of ever being published. There are far more reasons to avoid a literary career, and if you choose to see things from that perspective, every story like this will underline it even more.

But if you choose to remain true to your passion, to the writing that you love, to the stories that you want to tell, the characters, the settings, etc. If you stay true, then you’ll be on a better path to personal satisfaction and exploration, which, in all probability, is also more likely to reach an audience. 

It’s also worth noting that your personal perspective cannot be replicated. The way that you see things, the way you interpret them, no other person will view things the same, which means that they also can’t subsequently communicate things the way that you can. And if you can hit that resonant frequency, where all of these creative elements align, that’s where the truly great works come from. And you can’t do that without creating in the style that speaks to you.

So while the loss of another literary opportunity is disheartening, it’s not the end of all opportunities. And eventually, readers will come back around. Eventually, publishers and producers will once again realize the true value of great writing, which tools like AI can’t replace, and things will shift.

As a writer, I would advise that your job is to find the voice of your story, and explore that until you feel like you’ve got it right.  

AI misuse

There are a few different angles to the debate around the use of authors’ work to train AI models, though I’ll give you the bottom line: Authors are going to end up getting screwed one way or another.

Why is that? Because the way that the current laws are set up isn’t structured to enforce copyright in this circumstance, while any future protections for authors will likely be watered down in order to ensure that they don’t impede progress in AI development.

I’ll explain.

First, on the case of current authors’ work that’s been used to train AI models. Most authors are rightly outraged that their books have been used to assist in building systems that are going to cannibalize their industry, without their permission, and it’s true that certain AI developers have essentially stolen authors’ work without permission.

Meta has been a key target in this respect, because according to reports, Meta knowing loaded its AI language database with content from LibGen, a “shadow library” which illegally hosts millions of copyrighted books and academic papers.

To be clear, Meta’s likely not the only AI developer to have accessed the LibGen database. But because Meta generates hundreds of billions of dollars from ads, and it’s not paying authors to use their work, many people have taken aim at Meta’s process as their main focus of angst in this respect.

Indeed, several high-profile authors took Meta to court seeking damages on this front, after demonstrating that Meta’s AI tools were able to accurately recreate large segments of their work. This, the authors claimed, is evidence of copyright infringement, and they sought damages through the US court system.

And failed.

Why?

A US Federal Court ruled that Meta has not violated copyright in building its AI datasets with LibGen content, because the judge in the case found that the company’s use of these works is for “transformative” purpose. And as such, Meta’s AI tools are not designed to create competing works, as such.

This comes down to legal technicalities: Yes, Meta likely took this content from LibGen and loaded it into its system. But the copyright infringement in this case has been done by the LibGen database, not Meta, which has merely reused the information it accessed in the dataset.

The judge’s view is that AI tools are not designed to infringe on copyright, as such, because they create new works, and only use these datasets as context. It’s kind of like trying to argue that a car manufacturer is responsible for a person speeding, Meta only built the tool, it doesn’t control what people might do with it.

That also means, as the judge noted, that there may be specific cases where copyright is infringed by AI tools, like if you could show that somebody else repurposed your work specifically, and started making profit from that, then there could be a case for compensation. But that would be on a case-by-case basis, and is not prosecutable under a broader umbrella ruling on such use.

The actual violator in this case would be LibGen, which has proven difficult to shut down, because it regularly shifts domain names, and is hosted in Russia.

But because Meta’s not republishing this content direct, and profiting from that, the legal technicalities mean that Meta will likely be able to argue that such access is “fair use,” so authors won’t be getting any compensation from, or control over Meta direct on this front.

This is also further complicated by a broader push by big tech firms to encourage leniency on AI development, in order to ensure that the US is able to lead the AI race.

The White House, for example, recently outlined its AI action plan, in which it noted that it’ll be looking to:

“…work with all Federal agencies to identify, revise, or repeal regulations, rules, memoranda, administrative orders, guidance documents, policy statements, and interagency agreements that unnecessarily hinder AI development or deployment.”

Governments around the world are looking to drive AI innovation, and under pressure from the US, may find it difficult to build in relevant protections to impede such.

Though they are still exploring such.

The Australian Productivity Commission (APC) is exploring ways to protect Australian authors’ work, and build AI-specific regulations into future publishing contracts, for example.

Though many don’t believe that the APC is overly invested in such, and it seems unlikely that there are going to be any significant regulatory shifts to ensure greater protections. Which is further complicated by the existence of datasets like LibGen, which already operate outside the law, and if AI developers are legally allowed to access such, I’m not sure what the APC can actually do.

So, essentially, Australian authors, and authors in general, don’t have a lot of legal recourse for AI misuse, unless there are specific cases where you can demonstrate that AI tools have been used to rip-off your work, and have harmed your business opportunities as a result.

Which sounds a little defeatist, but this is based on the rules as they stand, and the legal precedent established by past cases.

You can’t simply argue that you don’t like it, that you don’t want your work used, you need to be able to prove that it has been, for one, then show that you’ve lost out as a result.

Which means that there will be AI copyright cases, but in general, they’ll be difficult to litigate. Which means that authors are going to get screwed. One way or another.

kids fiction

Are we taking the right approach in teaching kids to read, and fostering a literary and reading culture among children?

According to the stats, kids books continue to sell well, and there are a broad range of popular titles and celebrity-assigned kids’ book series that appeal to both parents and children alike. And it makes sense that kids books would sell, because parents are keen to encourage healthy behaviors like reading, so they’re more than willing to buy books to encourage kids to read.

But, at the same time, most of these titles would hardly qualify as reading, nor teaching kids an appreciation of books.

The ‘Dog Man’ series is a set of very basic comic strips in book form, and while the books average about 250 pages each, they only include about 4k words across those pages. The ‘Treehouse’ series is a joke book written by adults for kids, while Ahn Do’s kids books are simplified cliches. Many of these titles aren’t creative nor educational, yet they sell a heap, because they’re cool, and kids feel good saying that they read books, which then gains the approval of adults.

But are they really learning to read? Is this really beneficial?

I don’t know, it feels like we’re missing the point, and that the authors are often capitalizing on market trends, as opposed to contributing to broader literary education.

But then again, the counterargument would be that any reading is a positive, and kids wouldn’t bother reading at all if they didn’t have simple books like this that they can latch onto. And maybe, the very act of sitting down with a book is a positive step for literary culture in itself. But it just feels like there should be more responsibility among kids book authors to encourage increasingly complex literary trends, as opposed to making up fart jokes and pretending that they’re champions of education.

I don’t know, there’s no simple answer I guess, but we seem to be too accepting of these types of books as guides for our youngsters, when they’re likely not benefiting anyone other than the publishers of such.

Maybe I’m missing some critical link between these simple books and expanded comprehension in book form, but it seems to me like we should be more wary of what content we’re providing to our kids.

back to it

Okay. The time has come to write about writing once again.

Why now? Because I miss talking about writing and literary theory, and I don’t get to do it anywhere else. 

In terms of published work, I’m currently in a state of semi-forced hiatus, because the publishing industry isn’t really looking for what I write. 

That doesn’t mean that it’s bad, necessarily, but right now, thrillers and crime novels (and recipe books) are selling, literary fiction is not. Topical books, books with expanded social commentary, books from people of marginalized backgrounds, these are the types of things that readers, and what remains of the reading audience are seeking out.

Which is good, in many ways, in giving opportunity to a wider scope of writers. But less good for me at present. 

So I don’t have anything on the horizon for publishing, but I do have several manuscripts that I’ve completed to first draft, and several ideas that I’m exploring. Indeed, I write a novel a year, because I love writing, but I’m less attached to the literary industry and the scene type stuff that draws many wannabe authors in.

Of course, if someone offered me a publishing contract, I’d take it, don’t get me wrong. But also, I’m an introvert and a quiet person, and I’m happy to not have to do the circuit. So it’s good and bad.

Though that also means making less money from my fiction work, and ideally, that would be a real career path. But it’s not a realistic one, for almost any author in Australia. The average income for a fiction writer in Australia is $18,200 per year, and that’s probably at the higher end of what most writers make for their fiction work alone. So really, it would be considered a hobby, even for the names that you recognize on the bookstore shelves. 

Yet, even so, I, like many others, write for the love of it, and the need to get these stories out of my head. And things change, literary trends shift, book popularity ebbs and flows. 

Maybe something I write will align with the right trend at the right time at some stage.

But as I say, I still write, I still read as much as I can, and I still like to talk about the craft of writing, and learning how to become a better writer. 

So I’m gonna’ go back to writing about that. 

In some ways, it feels less impactful at this stage, because if my own writing isn’t selling, what can I offer in terms of valuable writing advice? But I do know writing, and what works, in general terms, versus what doesn’t.

And hopefully, if you read along, we’ll both learn some new things.

New novel – ‘Control’

I’ve got a new novel, but I’ve had to go a different route in getting it published this time around.

There are a couple of reasons for this. First off, my last book didn’t sell very well, which is a death knell for lit fic authors, especially in a small market like Australia. There are probably various reasons for this, but a big one is that people just don’t read the same stuff that they used to, and there’s not a huge variety of books that actually sell. Historical fiction still does well, crime and thrillers – supermarket fiction still hits big sales targets. But you’ll note that the literary fiction section in the bookshop is getting smaller and smaller, as the kids’ section and the recipe book area continues to grow.

People used to read books on the train or bus, or before turning in for the night. But now, they scroll through TikTok and Instagram instead, and it seems like lit fic, which asks for a bigger mental commitment from the reader, is just not connecting with as many people as it once was.

Which makes it much harder to maintain a writing career. I’ve literally been told by an agent that, as a middle-aged white author, I should be writing crime or thrillers, because that’s what sells, while the AusLit sector is now much more focused on diversity and publishing a breadth of voices from different backgrounds. Which makes sense – and again, publishers are guided by what sells, so market forces dictate such either way. But that either means that I need to write crime fiction, which I’m not knowledgeable on, and not engaged with. Or just stop writing completely and see if maybe market trends shift one day in future.

Or go another route.

This time around, I’ve tried out self-publishing, because for one, I can, and two, this is a shorter novel, probably more a novella in length, so it seems like a good project to experiment with.

Also, there are no sales pressures, no expectations of return. Because it’s published through Amazon, it only costs Amazon money when someone orders the book, so if I sell a total of zero copies, no one will care (note: the commission I earn on sales of the paperback version is about 30 cents).

Which could be the way that lit fic is headed. And I kind of like it. I like the idea of smaller circles of readers publishing and sharing underground type books, without the fanfare and marketing of the regular process, no book store signings and festivals.

Don’t get me wrong, those can be enjoyable, and if a major publisher wanted to sign me for my next book, I’d definitely do it, I’m not denigrating the process. But I think that there could be a really interesting backchannel rising for literary fiction works, which could end up seeing some of the best projects actually making it out into the mainstream.

I mean, that’s kind of what’s happened with Michael Winkler’s ‘Grimmish’, a self-published book that was recently nominated for the Miles Franklin award. Winkler handed the book around to writer friends, and it quietly became a hit, largely through word of mouth.

That’s a really interesting filter through which we could see more great novels make their way. Or not – and for the ones that don’t hit, it’s just a cool little project from an author that you might know, which costs nothing, and sits on a digital bookshelf for posterity.

It seems like that’s how things could be headed, and it’s interesting for me to try it out and feel my way through the process.

So I’ve published a new book, which you can purchase here. It’s 345 pages and it costs $17.60, from which, again, I’m not really making anything back.

Because it’s not about money at this stage. Making money out of fiction is almost impossible, and for me, I just like pushing things forward, and working on writing projects. This one was sitting on my hard drive, ready to go. And now, it’s out there for others to read.

So, if you’re interested, you can purchase ‘Control’ here.

Here’s a brief blurb on what it’s about:

“A woman who teaches sign language and lives in the inner-city. A newly elected local councillor, who stands proud before his wife and kids. A successful young businessman who has it all, or so it seems. A teenager, raised by a single mother, already toughened to the world.

All four in different stages and situations, but each with a handle on their world.

Each about to lose control.”

You can order a print copy, and Amazon will print it and get it out within a week. I’m still working on the digital version.

Maybe it reaches an audience, maybe not, but it’s another experiment in my writing journey.

writing and motivation

Why do you write?

This is a question that I’ve been going over in my mind in recent months as I assess where my fiction projects are at.

For context, while my first novel, which was released in 2007, sold reasonably well for a lit fic debut, and won several awards, my second, released 11 years later, did not fare as strongly, which may well be the death knell for my literary career – because if you can’t show publishers that you can generate ongoing sales, ideally to an established audience, then they have less reason to reinvest in your next project.

That’s basically where I’m at. The market has changed a lot since my debut, and the reasons why people buy and read books has also shifted, with a significant portion of book marketing now focused on the author’s story, alongside the work itself. This, of course, has always been an element, but in the age of social media, author identity is a bigger consideration, and if you’re not doing all that you can to establish an audience, based on who you are as well as what you write, you’re once again diminishing your marketing value, and thus, your prospects of being published.

But I remain confident in my work. My writing is of a publishable standard, and I’ve completed several new manuscripts. I just can’t get anyone to read them. Like at all.

Which then begs the question – why write? Why do you set out on a literary project, and what are you aiming to get from your efforts?

If it’s fame and money, then lit fic is not for you, and money has never been a major element of why I write (luckily).

Ideally, you want readers, you want to connect with an audience, and a general lack of interest in reading has definitely become more pronounced, among people that I know at least.

It used to be that people would read on the train home, or they’d squeeze in a couple of chapters, propped up on a pillow in bed, before switching out the light. Now, we have phones to soak up all those gaps in attention, which makes it harder to get anyone to commit to reading long-form fiction.

People still read, with crime fiction and thrillers, as well as books from established authors still selling reasonably well. But it feels like it’s a harder pitch to get people to commit to 250+ pages than it’s ever been, which increases the barriers to success.

So if you can’t make money, and readers aren’t overly excited to check out your new stuff, is it worth writing at all?

I don’t know, and I’ve been grappling with the concept, as I continue to work on different fiction projects and ideas over time.

It seems that we now simultaneously have more pathways into publishing than ever before, with the internet and self-publishing so prominent and readily available, while we also have fewer actual readers to reach.

Then again, you don’t need a huge audience to make it worthwhile (dependent on your aims), and maybe then, self-publishing is the way to go, just to keep things going, just to keep it moving, while ideally also helping you to build an audience and establish your own market.

Maybe that’s the path I should take – but even then, it doesn’t feel like that’s really what I want, that’s not the reason that I want to write.

So what is it? What makes you want to come up with a story and map it out and write it down and put all the pieces together and have it all complete?

For me, completion is, at least in part, the goal. I have a concept that I want to explore, I develop the characters, and I’m interested to learn more about their lives and experiences, while also refining my writing and creating a dynamic, moving story. I love doing that, I love writing and re-writing, then leaving it for a few months before checking back in, to read your own words with fresh eyes. That still excites me – and maybe that’s enough, maybe I don’t need outside recognition or acknowledgment as much as I just need that creative outlet, for my own sanity as much as anything else.

But it still feels like a bit of a let down. I spend all that time crafting something complete, something that comes together, that builds page-by-page. And no one will ever read it.

Is that enough? I’m still coming to terms with that, and considering my stance, but right now, despite my latest work, in my view, being far more advanced than my past efforts, it’s just sitting on my hard drive, gathering digital dust.

So is it worth starting something new, when no one’s interested in what you have?
For me, as a learning and development exercise, there is still value in the next project. And market trends shift, things come back around. Maybe another opportunity is coming.

Till then, I’ll keep working, and see where the next story takes me.

On alternative pathways to literary success

Could the expansion of creator tools online, and in particular via social media platforms, offer new publishing potential for a broader range of fiction authors?

I’ve had this question in mind for some time, in considering the ways in which literature is now accessed, and what might be the best way to connect with modern audiences in alignment with how they’re looking to read.

Because the truth is, readers have changed. People used to read books on trains and buses, and get through a few chapters in bed before turning in each night. But the arrival of smartphones has changed this, with everybody now glued to their devices for hours on end, which then reduces the time that they’re willing to spend with books, while concurrently increasing the value proposition that authors then need to communicate to get people to commit to engaging with longer form content.

You need to hook readers in, and the easiest way to do this is to take a topical angle, tying into a prominent discussion or trend. Then, through implicit virtue, you’re bound to get at least some readers to buy and mention your book. But without a topical hook, general fiction now struggles to gain attention, and sales traction as a result.

That’s why literary trends have changed so significantly, with thrillers and historical fiction dominating general reading trends, while literary fiction falls away. Lit fic takes more time and attention, while the faster pace of thrillers aligns better with shortening attention spans.

So what do authors do? If you don’t write within defined genre constraints, and don’t have a specific political angle for your story, how can you gain optimal attention for your work?

The truth may lie in re-imagining how you communicate, with newer, digital styles of publishing potentially providing a better fit with modern readers and their content engagement habits.

That’s why Salman Rushdie’s recent announcement that he’s publishing a new novella on Substack is interesting, with a traditional fiction superstar now looking to an alternative online publishing format to maximize his reach.

Rushdie’s planning to release his latest novella in instalments, via Substack’s newsletter platform. That could see Rushdie publishing a chapter a week, for example, which is not an entirely new concept in itself, but it is interesting given the profile that Rushdie already has, and the fact that even the big names in the field are now considering alternate pathways to audience reach.

As explained by Rushdie:

“I think that new technology always makes possible new art forms, and I think literature has not found its new form in this digital age… Whatever the new thing is that’s going to arise out of this new world, I don’t think we’ve seen it yet.

In some ways, that process is actually taking literature back to its early roots, with classic authors like Dickens and others originally publishing most of their works in serialised form, as a means to attract new readers. Now, it would be scaling things back to hold attention in the same way, with the hopes that these smaller samples of the broader work can attract new audiences – though even then, there is a question around holding reader attention, and whether such process can viably translate into a sustainable form of income through subscriber-based tools.

But I think that Rushdie’s right – literature hasn’t found its right form for modern consumers just yet.

Much of the online literary discussion these days is far less about the writing itself, and far more about the political considerations around such, leading to various debates, but too often the focus shifts away from the content itself, and onto the author and/or the topic, leaving the craft of writing, and actually creating the world of the work, as a side note. Which shouldn’t be the case, but as noted, getting people to actually engage with the work itself is more and more challenging, and in order to facilitate ongoing discussion around literature and writing, we need to find the best ways to connect with readers that will align with their behaviours, essentially making such as engaging as scrolling through non-stop social media feeds.

Nobody knows what that solution will be, but more authors are experimenting with shorter form, digitally accessible formats to maximize audience reach, while establishing community connection around your work can also facilitate more value and engagement.

These are elements that authors in times past have not had to contemplate in the same way, and it can be difficult to change your thinking around how things should work, and the importance of the relationships between publishers and authors in this respect.

But clearly, things are changing, and the authors that can change with those trends, rather than battling against them, are the only ones who stand a chance of winning out.

Otherwise, more and more debut fiction writers will simply fall away, and literary discussion will increasingly shift away from the work, and more towards tangential elements.

Because that’s what’s retaining attention, and while that’s not conducive to literary culture, habitual shifts are what they are. You either listen to that, or write for yourself, and hope that, one day, someone might, maybe, read your stuff.

narrowing interest

For all the talk about growing opportunities for creators online, it feels like modern creative outlets, like online video, are far more temporary in nature, while support for traditional arts is becoming even more finite, which limits the scope for getting things like literary works published.

We’ve seen this happen with the film industry – in the mid-nineties, there was a flood of arthouse films, which seemed to thrive alongside more mainstream faire. But as technology advanced, seeing improvements in digital downloads, home cinema systems, improved content access, etc. As this happened, audiences stopped heading to arthouse films at the same rate, and studios eventually stopped funding them as a result, which has since seen the focus shift almost entirely to blockbuster movies instead, with smaller films getting a thin lifeline from Netflix and other outlets, where success, and even broad scale awareness, is largely a crapshoot.

Now we’re in the midst of a similar shift in the literary world. With people now able to access a constant form of entertainment, and distraction, in their pocket at any time, getting people to actually commit to reading a book at all is a far bigger task than it has been previously.

People don’t need a book to read on the train home from work, or to take with them on a road trip, they don’t get through a few chapters before turning off the night light. Instead, they scroll, for hours on end, through an endless and constantly updating stream of snackable, short-form content, which quenches their desire for entertainment, education and escape, without them having to lock in for hundreds of pages.

As a result of this, the big publishing houses are getting more limited in what they publish, and while there are still some interesting titles being released, their potential for success is much lower, and the threshold for a literary career, as such, is far more limited. If you want to make it, you have to sell books, and if you don’t, you won’t be getting that next contract. Your literary career can go from celebration of publication to an abrupt and unceremonious end, very quickly, and just getting that basic awareness, getting people to even pick up our book in the first place, or just know that it exists, is a challenge.

So publishers are getting more limited. If it feels like a lot of the same thing is being published, again and again, that’s because it is, while it’s far easier for the publishing houses to get media coverage, and therefore boost awareness, for stories that touch on topical issues and themes. That’s always been the case to some degree, but now, it seems like a much bigger factor, with media interest, and social media promotion, often hinging on these additional elements.

In the end, this makes the pathway to publishing far more difficult. That’s not to say it can’t be done, there are still various examples of well-written books getting published, despite not having a topical hook or angle. But sales of literary fiction, in particular, are not strong in the AUS market, and peeling people away from their phones long enough to care about your work is a rising challenge.

So what do you do? Should you look to add more topical angles to your projects? Should you lean into what’s trending, or focus on a more specific style or genre in order to boost commercial appeal?

What’s more important – the quality of the writing itself, or the marketability of such?

I don’t know. I don’t think anybody has the answers. But it’s getting harder, and connecting with audiences, despite more avenues than ever for such, is no easy feat.

modern media approaches

A fellow author friend of mine, Jack Heath, recently posted an explanation on Twitter as to why he needed to take a break from social media in order to better focus on other things.

As Jack explained, one of his biggest concerns is that in maintaining an active social media presence, which he feels compelled to do with respect to book promotion and establishing connection with fans, is that it’s having an impact on the way he experiences the world.

“I used to go through life looking for stories to tell. Now I’ve found myself looking around for things to post about. I worry that if I keep going down this path, my books will cease to be imaginative or original. I can’t even enjoy reading anymore, because whenever I hit a good paragraph, I feel the urge to take a picture of it. I almost always resist that urge, but it’s too late – the thought alone has taken me out of the story.”

Jack raises an interesting question – do authors need to have an active social media presence? Or even should they?

Like most writers, I’ve had conflicts with this myself. My day job is writing about digital marketing, so I need to use social media in order to understand how everything works. But I don’t post much myself, and I don’t see a huge amount of value in doing it, personally. But many authors do indeed gain significant value from being active online – I’ve written previously about how authors can maximize the benefits of social media, and build their platform to help them sell more books.

But it’s hard, it’s a big commitment if you want to use it as a brand-building vehicle. it’s not just posting whenever you feel, it takes a dedicated effort in establishing your place and what you want to be known for. That then enables an audience to find you, and you can then use that to help promote your books, and some authors clearly have a knack for it. But others…

Writing is a solitary exercise – you need time away from everybody else in order to gather your thoughts and let your stories form, before then needing even more time alone to actually write them. Given this, it’s not surprising that many authors are actually quite introverted and aren’t looking to be the centre of attention. Which is counter to the aims of promotion – and definitely, with access to millions of people, social platforms provide you with a means for promoting yourself and your work. But as Jack notes, it can also take a toll.

So should you bother?

This really comes down to the individual. Again, many authors gain a lot by being active online, yet equally as many high-profile writers don’t even have a Twitter profile. Tara June-Winch has won virtually every major literary award in Australia in 2020, and she doesn’t have a Twitter presence. In fact, of the five authors nominated in the fiction category in the 2020 Prime Minister’s Literary Awards, only one of them has an active Twitter account.

In some ways, this seems like an option only available to more established authors, as they have less need to build that initial brand awareness. But it does also suggest that it’s not 100% necessary, being active online is not a definitive requirement.

Yet, there is also a growing focus on author identity in book promotion, with often as much discussion around who the author is as the work itself. This is counter to literary discussion, in my view, as the work should always be the focus, but either way, it’s a trend that exists, which points to it being beneficial to let your audience in, and to share more of yourself with the world.

In many ways, though, it seems like more writers would prefer to take the Cormac McCarthy approach.

Notoriously media-shy (or resistant, depending on how you look at it), if you want to get in touch with Cormac McCarthy, for an interview or any other purpose, you reportedly have to leave a letter in a mail box which is checked periodically by his ex-wife. If she thinks it’s relevant, she’ll pass it on, and then he might, if he deems it of interest, get in touch. But probably not.

There’s no other form of contact, which leaves him to concentrate on his writing.

As one of McCarthy’s ex-wives noted to The New York Times in 1992

“Someone would call up and offer him $2,000 to come speak at a university about his books. And he would tell them that everything he had to say was there on the page.”

That feels like a better approach, though there is much value in writers groups, online discussions, contributing to the wider community. But it can also get to be too much.

In the modern world, establishing the right balance is increasingly difficult.

creativity in crisis

Should you be actively creating at this time?

In many ways, it seems like the perfect opportunity – people have more time on their hands due to the lockdowns, there are fewer social events to attend, etc. Yet, most people I know are not feeling overly creative, and have struggled to stay focused on fiction work and art.

Why is that?

Because creativity is inspired by our lived experiences, in what we do and see each day. Fiction writers don’t come up with an idea for a story instantaneously, it takes time – it’s various pieces and elements that rattle around inside your head until they coalesce, and the seed of a story is formed.

Right now, it’s hard to be creative because our inputs are reduced, because there are not as many things happening to us personally, which makes it more difficult to gather the various remnants and ponder their meanings and reflections.

Of course, there is a lot happening, in terms of global events. On a broader scale, its one of the busiest periods in history, but those larger scale incidents lack the immediacy required in many cases, to actual feel the emotion of small moments, to understand the scope of the details.

In essence, what I’m saying is that you shouldn’t feel bad if you’re struggling to create right now. If the words aren’t flowing, if the story is not coming together. Because without our usual connection to the broader world, it’s harder to find those small pieces that you’ll need to complete the puzzle of your story.

Writers are observationalists, we pay attention to the details and absorb moments, which we then use to build an understanding of the world, and the worlds that we subsequently create. Without fewer chances to observe, our creativity, understandably, is impacted.

So go easy on yourself, there’s a lot going on, for everyone, and if you’re not feeling it right now, it’ll come back. There’s no need to pressure yourself even further if the creativity feels a little distant.