What do I, as an author, owe to myself? What do I owe to my publisher? To my readers?
I think about this often as I promote my debut novel, Waiting for the Night Song, while simultaneously revising my forthcoming novel, The Last Beekeeper, and drafting what will hopefully become my third novel.
To whom do I owe what?
I wrote Waiting for the Night Song with no expectations. I created a story I needed to tell, not knowing if I would ever sell it. I wrote the book for myself. After landing the elusive book contract, I incorporated changes based on suggestions from my editor. At this point, I was still writing for myself — sort of.
New expectations started lining up.
I wanted to please my editor and my agent, both of whom took a gamble when they signed me. I wanted to make them proud. I wanted my book to succeed commercially. But mostly, I need this book of my heart to be mine, to be the book I had envisioned for so many years.
It was still my book, right?
Ideas, many of them bad, started sneaking into my head. Should I add more surprise twists? Books with twisty plots were topping the charts, so I added a poorly-conceived plot contortion, for no reason other than I thought readers wanted it.
I quickly deleted the ridiculous subplot because it didn’t serve the theme of my book, and this book was, after all, for me.
To be clear, my editor and agent have never pressured me to change my writing in ways that didn’t feel right for my story. They make suggestions, not demands. But after years of writing just for myself, I now feel the burden of writing for other people, as well.
I started to wonder: Was Waiting for the Night Song still mine?
Every time I contemplated a change, I checked in with the little voice inside my head that shouted: Is this really what you want?
Waiting for the Night Song launched in January 2021. As soon I got the first copy in my hands, I took a long, hard look at my beautiful book, and I can honestly say, yes, it is the book I wanted to write.
But as soon as it hit the shelves, a new player came into the picture: readers. Early readers, reviewers, influencers, book clubs, and they all had opinions.
When I Zoomed in to virtual book clubs to chat about my book, I occasionally faced tough questions. Did that character really need to die? Are you pushing a political agenda?
At first, I assumed a defensive position when anyone challenged my authorial choices. Didn’t they understand I wrote this book for myself? Of course, my writing includes my worldview. But I soon realized that the day I released my book into the world, it no longer belonged to me, at least not completely.
My book did not belong to my agent or my publisher.
It belonged to my readers.
Every reader who invests time and money in reading my book owns a piece of the story. They read my words through the filter of their own lived experiences. I believe the scenes I wrote play out differently in the minds of each reader.
Some readers appreciate the choices I make for my characters. Other readers find plenty to question. I receive lovely notes thanking me for my inclusion of climate crisis in the story. Messages came in from readers who identified with my characters. And, of course, there was the note from a reader I offended because my characters slept together too soon.
It took a lot of emotional work for me to get comfortable with the fact that my story no longer belongs to me. But it’s also a bit of a relief, to be honest. Their praise, questions, and issues are valid from their perspectives. Every reader adds life to my story by imagining it through the lens of their own experiences.
Now when I Zoom in to book club meetings, I preface the conversation by saying, “I wrote this book for myself, but it belongs to you now, too. Whatever you read into the story is valid and I want to talk about it, even if your interpretation isn’t what I intended.” This approach has led to some amazing conversations. It frees readers to question my choices and for me to hear their questions without feeling defensive.
I cherish these interactions with my audience. Having launched my debut novel during a pandemic, I haven’t had the opportunity to meet many of my readers in person. I love participating in Zoom events, but it’s not quite the same.
As I write this post, I’m in Park City, Utah, during the week that should have seen the Sundance Film Festival take over this small mountain town. The empty streets are lined with colorful banners welcoming film aficionados to the festival. But no one is here, because, as Omicron numbers climbed, festival organizers made the brave decision to cancel all in-person events.
I’ve been attending the Sundance Film Festival for about ten years. Passion for storytelling infuses every conversation. My favorite part of each movie screening is the moment at the end when the writers, directors, producers, and actors come up on stage to answer questions directly from their audience.
That connection to the audience matters, because as soon as the opening credits roll, that movie belongs to the audience, just like my book belongs to my readers.
I’ve been watching the online film screenings at this year’s virtual film festival, but the interactions between filmmakers and audience aren’t quite the same. It’s a huge loss for the filmmakers, and for the audiences to whom they owe so much.
We, as artists, do owe something to our audiences. We owe them gratitude. Every time I meet or correspond with someone who read my book, I’m overwhelmed by the fact that someone would set aside eight hours of their life to read my words.
Now, as I’m preparing to launch my second book, The Last Beekeeper, into the world, I’m struggling again with that same question: To whom do I owe what?
The readers who enjoyed my first book probably have an expectation that my forthcoming book will satisfy them in a similar way. My publishers expect my book to appeal to a similar readership.
Do I owe it to my readers and to my publisher to deliver on those expectations? Or do I owe it to myself to write the book I feel moved to write? What if those goals diverge?
Luckily, I think (I hope?) The Last Beekeeper, will appeal to the same readers who liked Waiting for the Night Song, but I’m already bracing myself for pushback on some elements that stretch the boundaries of genre. Although the setting is very familiar, my new book takes place in the near future and relies on subtle dystopian elements.
Will my readers follow me? And what about this third book I’m working on that engages elements of magical realism? Will readers trust me and give up eight hours of their life to read these new books? Or should I have played it safe and written a second book more similar to the first?
I’m willing to take the risk and hope my readers follow me. I love The Last Beekeeper, and I’m quite smitten with the plot I’m devising for Book Three. Just thinking about these new books makes me giddy because they are, for the moment, still mine.
As an author, I owe something to many people, including myself. I know I won’t be able to please everyone, so I’m going back to the beginning. I’m writing for myself.
Until it hits the shelves next year, The Last Beekeeper belongs to me, and I owe it to myself to write the best version of this book I can, a version that gives me first-date butterflies when I think about my favorite scenes.
But I also look forward to the day my next book lands on bookstore shelves, the day it will belong to my readers and I get to view my story through their lenses, an enormous privilege I will never take for granted.
Who do you write for? As a reader, what expectations do you put on authors? As a writer, what expectations do feel burdened with?