I started my professional career 20 years ago on a group blog called Murderati. Group blogs were all the rage—we were pre-social media at that moment—and I was lucky enough to fall in with a group of writers who were exploring all facets of crime fiction. I was the tech-savvy one of the bunch, so I learned how to code and design the website in addition to being the Friday blogger. It was incredible fun, but also a tremendous amount of work.

(How Substack Helped Me Publish My Novel at 55.)

I grew up on Murderati. Late to the writing game (I started blogging in 2003 at age 34, three years before my first book was published), I knew very little about how the industry worked, and even less about what it took to have a career in writing. I learned the ropes experimenting with voice, analyzing writing trends, and otherwise baring my soul for the world every week. It taught me the discipline of meeting deadlines and how important it was to think about writing, even when I wasn’t creating. I ate up every ounce of advice and insight the other bloggers were sharing. I learned; we all did. Over the years, I published book after book, and yes, blog after blog.

33 books and 22 years later, I’ve learned a little bit about what it takes to have a career in publishing. I’d like to think I know how to write a compelling story. And I’ve never been able to break the habit of a weekly blog. Now it’s called Friday Reads, lives on Substack, and is an amalgamation of writing advice, book recommendations, and genial chit chat between me and my readers, many of whom, after all these years, are dear friends.

When Substack appeared on the scene, I jumped in with both feet. The current iteration of social media, with its brevity, incessant scrolling, and performative nature, can be challenging for me. Long-form writing has always been my forte. After all, I am a writer—not a producer, photographer, videographer, or actor—and Substack seemed like a great place to explore a deeper connection with my readers. I arrived a little earlier than most; I was writing on Medium and wasn’t happy with the changes that were in place, and I loved the simple, clean interface that Substack provided. I built the site with my most treasured essays, making it beautiful, functional, and easily readable, transferred my small but loyal weekly blog readership, and continued writing.

(An Honest Review of the Medium Publishing Platform.)

But Substack has a subscription model. And I’ve always wanted to write a book on writing. I’ve collected all the blogs I’ve ever written into a file that I’ve been trying to get off the ground for a long time, but it’s never worked. Publishing has changed so dramatically over the past 20-plus years that much of my older publishing and marketing advice is no longer relevant.

But the actual craft of book writing…well, that’s advice people always want to hear.

I was just starting to work on a new book—Last Seen. And it hit me—why not try live writing the process of writing the novel, from concept to publication day. Multiple birds with one stone. A – It would be great fun, B – It would give me a legitimate reason to put work behind a paywall, and C – I could focus on building my nonfiction book at the same time as writing the fictional one.

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I started by examining the lifecycle of a book. I wrote down all the steps it takes from concept to publication and realized that for me, a story moves through 22 distinct phases. I decided to document them all, allowing readers deep insight into my process and encouraging writers to follow along as they built their current work in progress. Admittedly, deconstructing my process is something I’ve been doing since I started blogging, but nothing like this. This was my book journal come to life, as intimate, realistic, and honest as I could possibly be.

I even taught myself how to outline so I could explore and express that part of the process for those of us who aren’t inveterate pantsers. I hate to admit it, but I actually think it helped the book in the long run (though I did go rogue at one point because the whole thing fell apart on me).

I’m now nearly to publication day, the end of this series, with only a few posts left. It has burgeoned into almost 75,000 words of craft advice, story development, progress reports, behind-the-scenes looks at the day-to-day writing life—what’s worked, what hasn’t, where I pulled my hair out, where I wept for joy—and everything in between. It’s a living, breathing memoir; a craft book; a year-long journal, all rolled into one. And, of course, I realized there are more than 22 steps; I’d missed a few along the way, so I also included a number of essays labeled Interim Steps, which are designed to encourage and illuminate. In these, I discuss ego, the psychology of writing, what to do when you get blocked, and how to develop new stories. They round out the book’s lifecycle.

Writing is hard. There’s no question about that. And the more you do, the longer you’re in this game, the harder it gets. There’s no secret handshake, no magic. It’s just diligent, steady work, grinding out the words, day by day. I thought it would be fun for people to see what it actually takes to write a novel. Judging by the response I’ve had, I was right.

Check out J.T. Ellison’s Last Seen here:

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The post Live-Writing My Thriller Novel appeared first on Writer's Digest.

For so many reasons besides that belittling criticism I received, I could never get past the first 30 to 50 pages of more than a dozen novels I began and then abandoned in the following decades. It was all too easy to lay the self-doubt aside and settle for a day job that was less challenging and less fulfilling than the calling I could never put behind me. 

When my husband and I moved to Spain in 2019, I intended to take one more run at writing fiction part-time while teaching English. Then, during Covid lockdown in 2020, I tricked myself into short daily writing sessions that were sometimes frustrating but still better than the boredom of sitting stuck in an apartment with nothing better to do. A novel emerged—at last I had found a way to quiet (if not silence) the inner critic and proved to myself that I could do it. 

I began querying that novel in 2022, and all the advice-givers on YouTube agreed a newsletter is a great way to build an author platform. For new writers today, I would emphasize starting one as soon as you first begin drafting your novel, preferably sooner. While the cold-querying process to agents still produces success stories, the ability to engage with readers and show that you are already a robust citizen of the literary world is an increasingly important selling point that novices ignore at their peril.  

Unfortunately, I also came late to the newsletter and author platform game and didn’t yet have that crucial piece in my querying package. Despite a few full manuscript requests, all my queries were declined; that I managed not to take those 60 rejections personally was a testament to how far I’d come from that crushing earlier experience. While I let those No’s marinate, I embarked on a newsletter platform I’d heard about in a writing workshop: Substack. 

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Never mind monetizing—a secondary consideration for a fiction writer trying to connect with readers—the real magic of Substack is in the relationships you build with like-minded hopefuls, many of them also just starting out and looking to build a rapport with someone, anyone, who shares their dream of joining the community of people playing with words. I call it a writer incubator, even though there are more experienced writers and recognized names on the platform all the time, either courted by Substack or just finding their way through attrition from traditional media. 

Whether it’s finance, civil rights, or news, popular media, erotica, or New Age meditations, there’s a niche for everyone—and by all accounts, deciding on a niche is the first task at hand when you are initially choosing categories for yourself. I picked Fiction and Literature, but for the first 11 months I published no fiction. I was testing the waters. I busied myself with thought salads, book reviews, and stories of my life—clearing my throat while I figured out what I was really doing. 

Six months into posting on Substack, the self-imposed weekly deadline did wonders for my motivation, my subscribers increased five-fold, and feedback that was supportive rather than hypercritical helped repair my confidence further. I began to form connections with other writers, including several who were testing out serializing novels. I saw how non-traditional narratives presented in episodes resonated with readers, that the process of writing and reading fiction in digestible bites could be as satisfying as sitting down to the five-course meal of a book in hand. 

Eager to begin a new novel, I decided on a different approach—drafting and publishing each chapter as I went along. Lamb: A novel in snapshots is experimental and non-linear, interlocking stories with the same characters tracing an arc from high school days to the mysterious disappearance and untimely death of the title character. The story unfolds years later when his best friend, the unnamed narrator D, reminisces about their life together in the 80s and 90s while sorting through journal entries, poetry, and short stories left behind by Lamb, a sensitive, misunderstood soul and frustrated writer. 

The main advantage of this method (rather than finishing the novel before posting) was that I could post episodes of the story in real time, without much fear that developments later would necessitate seismic shifts in the earlier chapters. Drafting my first novel had been a process of iterations, blind alleys, and revisions; it had also taken two years.  

Another advantage, besides a deadline, was the need to frame each episode as its own engaging scene with a satisfying conclusion that still left the reader wanting more. Writers serializing on Substack often find their individual chapters are tighter and more suspenseful within the constraints of the format. 

The main disadvantage of serializing? Perhaps the perception that a novel self-published on Substack is disqualified from agent representation or a traditional publishing contract. I was interested in giving self-publishing a shot, and serializing it first seemed the perfect way to build an audience who might also be interested in buying or at least telling others about the book version later. 

Of course, there are still opportunities to publish traditionally even after self-publishing, Andy Weir and The Martian being just one wildly successful example. At least two memoirs (Kimberly Warner’s Unfixed and Mary L. Tabor’s Who By Fire) and a novel (Eleanor Anstruther’s Fallout) first serialized on Substack have been offered publishing contracts by Alisa Kennedy Jones’s new women-centered imprint, Empress Editions.  

The brilliance of Substack as a platform is not just the readers you find, but the relationships you’ll form with writers at all levels of the game. Eleanor, who’s now been both traditionally and self-published (she is leading the charge for a rebrand to “independent” publishing as an increasingly worthwhile path in the evolving marketplace), is a generous, prolific Substacker who also provided me a blurb for Lamb. 

There are a few caveats to just firing up a new Substack and starting to post chapters. Build up an audience of consistent readers first, who can be depended upon to Like and Comment on each new installment. Provide clear signposts along the way, with a separate introduction and table of contents pinned to a special section for your novel, and in-post links to previous and subsequent chapters. Know that most readers on Substack are unfailingly kind, and their positive comments should not take the place of beta readers and honest, constructive criticism. Expect that some readers will fall away in the course of the serial—rather than be disappointed, consider that these might be the very people who would prefer to read your story in book form; use it as motivation to set a swift deadline to bring it to market. 

As I’m turning the corner with the book I started on Substack, now released into the wild, the experience of building my platform there is sending ripples out into the wider literary landscape. While it’s not a magic pill, the doors it can open are proliferating for the new writer hoping to be welcomed into a fellowship of mutual support. 

The post How Substack Helped Me Publish My Novel at 55 appeared first on Writer's Digest.

(3 Ways to Fall in Love With Book Marketing.)

My first “serious” experience on social media was in the early-ish days of Twitter. I went from fearing and scorning Twitter, to FOMO, to tiptoeing in during 2010, to whole-heartedly embracing the platform, which I discovered was a writer’s paradise. Authors who would have been unreachable in analog days were on Twitter sharing their work, looking to connect and converse.

When I finished a book I loved, I’d tweet directly to the writer. Sometimes I DM-ed them and began a dialogue. Sometimes these dialogues evolved into long-term connections and genuine friendships.

On Twitter, I got insights from people with vastly different backgrounds from mine. I learned how they viewed literature and politics and all kinds of other things. I don’t know how many writing jobs I got via Twitter, but the professional payoff was significant. I deepened and widened my networks.

Given the fractionalization and potential toxicity of social media, I don’t think any platform will come close to my experience with Twitter. Nevertheless, it was a small step from Twitter to Instagram, which I joined after attending my first artist’s residency in 2017. I was eager to keep up with the visual artists I’d met. I wanted to see their work evolve.

By 2022, when my debut novel Three Muses came out, I was on a lot of socials. Sort of. Like others, I dislike being photographed, and I hate seeing photos of myself. The number of times I’d posted a picture of myself anywhere on social media could have been counted on one hand at that time.

When I sought advice about promoting Three Muses, I kept getting the same answer—Connect with your audience. The advice is obvious, but how do you find your audience? I suspected then and believe now that audience comes via multiple paths. Since I’m an ecumenical reader, I felt I needed to reach out in varied ways. For example, I write a weekly Substack newsletter that comes to readers’ email inboxes. I try to be as active as possible in my local reading and writing community. And social media is an integral part of my outreach as well.

I believe in specific outreach to specific audiences. Social media allows me to reach a set of demographics who may not respond to traditional marketing (whatever that is!). “Booktok,” a segment of TikTok, is comprised of young female readers, who might respond to my writing. I’m not sure how I’d reach them otherwise. My new novel, Duet for One, is a double love story as well as an immersion into classical music. Social media allows me to share music and musicians. I’m delighted that potential readers can hear what I’m writing and talking about. This process has been so exciting that I plan to incorporate live music into book launch events.

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I’m not the first to say that video content on both Instagram and TikTok (and elsewhere) catch people’s attention more than photographs. Videos, or “reels” as they’re called, provide an opportunity for me to chat with viewers. I feel unscripted and enjoy commenting on stuff happening now.

Social media content has become integral to my creative output. But I never want it to swamp the real work, which is reading and writing. To that end, I work with a wonderful 20-something social media guru who provides guidance, edits reels, and offers an array of support.

I love being a literary critic and publishing book reviews, but my Substack newsletter gives me a different kind of satisfaction. I don’t have to “pitch” anyone. I can cover topics that I hope readers will find meaningful. It’s easy to pivot when I want to cover pressing topics. Often a few short paragraphs that suggest an idea or an avenue of thinking, are all I want to say on the subject. A longer piece just wouldn’t do. I think of it as my literary playground.

We writers have our individual styles and comforts. I strongly suggest honoring your own needs and limits. Not everything is for everyone, a lesson I’ve had to learn repeatedly. Most important, never let anything take over your creative time. It’s just not worth it.

On the other hand, if you can stand some discomfort and are willing to stick your neck out, alternate forms of communication can help connect you to new readers and broaden your perspective. Most of all, I hope you learn something along the way.

Check out Martha Anne Toll’s Duet for One here:

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