Interview

A Conversation with April Eberhardt

The landscape of publishing can be challenging to navigate, especially as it continues to evolve and change as new outlets have emerged, such as self publishing and an even newer model called hybrid publishing. What does it take to land a traditional publishing deal? And how viable are these alternative options?

I had a chance to have a very open and candid conversation with April Eberhardt, a literary agent who also refers to herself as an “author advocate” to answer these very questions. April and I met at the San Miguel de Allende Writers' Conference in Mexico last year when I plopped myself down next to her at the opening faculty brunch. We hit it off immediately. She is a kindred spirit and a special human, and I'm excited to share her insights with you!


April Eberhardt is a self-described "literary change agent" and author advocate passionate about helping authors be published in the most satisfying way. After 25 years as a corporate strategist and management consultant, April joined the literary world, where she saw strategic opportunity to play a role in the changing world of publishing.

She advises and assists authors as they choose the best pathway to publication, and serves as a consultant to publishing startups serving indie authors. She represents a diverse group of clients in the U.S. and abroad, and speaks at conferences worldwide.

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April serves on the Advisory Council for The American Library in Paris and is a reader for The Best American Short Stories series published annually by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. April divides her time between San Francisco, New York and Paris.

 
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KARIN GUTMAN: What kind of literary projects do you represent as a publishing agent?

APRIL EBERHARDT: I continue to be most interested in stories by, for and about women. Mostly fiction, although I have represented some nonfiction as well, but I feel like women's voices are often not heard, and we as women are the ones who love to tell our stories, to share stories, to learn from stories, so that has really been my niche: to work with and for women, mostly fiction authors, and mostly debut. Frequently, my authors are women who have or have had full professional careers as doctors, lawyers, business executives, entrepreneurs, and they've always had a book in them. Often, it's just one book. Sometimes, it's more, but sometimes it's just one book.

It’s pushing water uphill. It's the hardest market to be in, because fiction is far harder to sell than nonfiction. Debut authors are almost impossible to sell to traditional publishers. But I really feel like that's the niche that I want to serve, so that's what I do.

KARIN: In which category would you place memoir?

APRIL: That's a hybrid category. It is sold as nonfiction, but in fact, in order to place a memoir, it has to be fully written. With a nonfiction book, you can write a proposal. You can say, “This is what I'm going to write about, this is why I'm qualified,” and then include a couple of sample chapters; whereas with a memoir, editors want to see the entire story to get a sense of whether it reads like fiction, like a story.

KARIN: Memoir falls under the umbrella of literature.

APRIL: Yes, that's right. Exactly.

KARIN: Does memoir as a genre appeal to you?

APRIL: Personally, I find it very interesting, particularly when someone has written a memoir that moves beyond the personal into the more philosophical. In other words, to me, there needs to be a bigger message from a memoir than “This is my story and I'm going to tell it.” That's completely legitimate, but for a book that's going to be published and find a wider readership, it seems to me a memoir needs to be more universal so that it will appeal to a variety of readers and not only entertain or amuse them but also leave them with some sense of knowing a little bit more about the world, in a broader sense.

Unless you're a celebrity, it's so difficult to sell memoirs. I will pick on Sharon Stone. I haven't read her memoir but her memoir sold to a publisher just like that, and they put all the publicity money into it. For an unknown person, it just doesn't happen that way unless it's really unusual. In recent years, I see much more emphasis on trauma memoirs, or what we call in the industry “misery memoirs,” which sounds cruel and I don't mean it to sound cruel, but if there's a helping of misery in there and some awful trauma which makes everybody gasp, those are the things that are more commercially successful, and I don't find those necessarily the stories that I want to be reading. I'd rather read a quiet story about someone discovering her birth father at age 47 and discovering family secrets.

KARIN: How do you suggest writers, then, think about the landscape of publishing?

APRIL: This is my advice, particularly for authors of memoir: think carefully about the audience with whom you want to share it, and that frequently is a fairly close-knit circle. I always say, “Take the small circle approach.” Think of a small circle of people you would like to share this with.

Wouldn't it be nice if the whole world were interested in it? In many ways, thinking about a book being read by millions of people legitimizes it. It says, “Yes, your story matters, and your story is worthwhile in some sense,” but the truth is that it rarely happens that a first-time author, especially a memoir author, is able to achieve that kind of audience, so I'd say don't measure your success by that. Measure your success by completing your memoir, by selecting a group with whom you're going to share it, and then not turning yourself into a pretzel to get it published. The traditional route, of course, is to find an agent… the agent will find a traditional publisher… that publisher will do all sorts of PR for you and you'll have a national tour where you sign books in 10 zillion venues. Again, that rarely happens, so I encourage authors to think about getting their story out to people to whom it will matter and whose opinions they value.

KARIN: What does “a small circle” mean to you?

APRIL: Well, I tend to work a lot with authors who are self-published or they decide to work with a hybrid publisher, which can be very costly and doesn't always end up where they want it to be. But self-publishing is really an attractive, manageable way to produce a beautiful book. I wish I had brought some examples, but many authors I've worked with have self-published and they invest in a beautiful cover. They get their cover professionally designed. They work with professional editors so it's edited well. Then, they print a short stack. They may print 10, 20, 100 books. They're not investing a whole lot of money in producing some big sell-it-to-the-world type of book, but there's a real satisfaction. It becomes a gift book.

I really think that is a wonderful solution for so many authors as opposed to trying to hit the big time and then three, four, five years later, coming back to me and saying either, “I didn't find an agent,” “I found an agent and she couldn't find a publisher,” or “She did find a publisher, and then the publisher couldn't publish it for two or three years, then it fizzled.” That, to me, is so disappointing. It's a terrible ending for books that have so much potential and hope for the author.

KARIN: When you say you work with a lot of authors who self-publish, is that the goal when they come to you?

APRIL: Not always. The goal is to decide whether the story is worthy of being published, whatever that means. Again, that's very subjective, but I will read it for them and say, “Yes, I think this is a worthy story.” I'll make suggestions to them about changes they might want to make to it. You want to take a look at the whole thing and shape it based on our experience as readers, coaches and so forth.

Then, we will do a Plan A and a Plan B. Often, the Plan A is “Will you be my agent, take me on as your author and try to sell it?” I do that, but I tend to put a fairly short timeline on that. I'll say, “Yeah, we'll give it six months to a year. If we don't find a publisher for you in that period of time, then we need to have a Plan B.” That is either going to be hybrid publishing or self-publishing, but the point is nobody is getting any younger, last I checked, and particularly for a lot of my authors who have a few years under their belt. I don't want them to be 95 and still waiting to be published.

The point is, if you don't have to wait that long, why not get your book out now and begin to enjoy the fruits of your labor, have discussions around it and feel a sense of satisfaction instead of waiting for some arbitrary judge out there to judge your book worthy or not worthy by virtue of being traditionally published? I think we give far too much power to the traditional publishing industry when, in fact, it's not guided by quality necessarily. It's guided more by celebrity and what can they sell the fastest for the biggest amount of money.

KARIN: Where does that leave you in terms of your investment?

APRIL: I call it my literary philanthropy. Increasingly now, after six months to a year, if we haven't been able to get a publisher, I propose a consulting arrangement where I support them in areas where they need help, and we come to an agreement on some reasonable fee for the author and for me to work together and I’ll do some things and she’ll do others.

It wouldn't be everything. For example, if they need professional editing, I introduce them to a professional editor and they pay that editor. Same with a cover designer. I know what I like, but I don't have a skill in designing those covers, so I put them in touch with a professional designer. Then, if I walk them through the process of getting published, we'll agree on some sort of hourly fee or project fee. I'm not in this to be a millionaire, frankly. I knew it going in and I know it now. It's nice for all of us to be compensated for our work, so we have that candid conversation up front so that there are no misunderstandings later on down the road. If they eventually say, “I want to do it myself,” I'll say, “Fine, good luck,” and I'll let them do that. I'm happy to work in whatever way makes sense to get the best book out there.

KARIN: What is the best way to approach a publishing agent?

APRIL: Well, we as agents are inundated with manuscripts. Not a day goes by that I don't get a whole bunch of unsolicited manuscripts. I think many authors blast a query out to a whole bunch of agents just to see what will stick to the wall.

If it's a well-written query in an area I'm interested in—by, for or about women—a query that's well-structured, well-punctuated, they spelled my name right... there are certain basics that often don't happen… then I'll ask for the manuscript. I usually know in the first couple of pages whether it's something that I am going to be interested in. It has to get off to a pretty fast start and if it does, then I'll read the rest and comment on it, but I can really only represent 10 to 12 actively at any given time because there are many activities that go into representing an author. I like to work independently. I'm a one-person shop, so I can only handle so many.

It's hard to really qualify or quantify what that means, but it's the old “I know it when I see it.” If it's something that seems good but doesn't work for me, I will very frequently refer it to another agent. We all know each other and we all tend to refer things back and forth.

KARIN: How do people find you?

APRIL: There's something called AgentQuery.com. Mostly, it's through conferences, though. In a typical year, I'll do 10 to 12 conferences. The last year it’s been Zoom, but normally after a conference I will get a whole slew of queries from people who've heard me speak about publishing options. I'm developing a presentation right now on post-pandemic publishing. What does the world look like and what implications does that have for authors? I think once I start presenting that, that will again engender a whole bunch of queries.

Frequently, it's referrals. I always tell the authors I represent, “If you know of somebody and you'd like to refer her, I'd welcome it.” I'll always take a look at those. Or, they'll look on Publishers Marketplace and see that I've sold this kind of work to this publisher. There are lots of ways that people find me.

KARIN: What does publishing look like in a post-pandemic world?

APRIL: I think that the trends have been there for a long while. Certainly, you're on your own as an author. The fact that we've all been locked away at home now has made that more apparent. I think social media has been and is currently flooded with “buy my book,” “read my book,” so it's devolved in many cases to a shouting match. Who can shout louder, who can shout more frequently, who can get well-known authors to review or blurb a book.

I find that social media is probably not the most effective way to sell your book. What's the sales rate depending on how many clicks you get? I would say it's probably not a whole lot, so I'm encouraging authors to think about different ways to promote their work. Now that we can reconnect in person and that we have this robust Zoom network, how can you work that to greatest advantage for yourself?

Again, it's that small circle that I mentioned earlier. Rather than frustrate yourself trying to beat your drum so loudly that the entire world can hear it, why not choose a vetted group of people that you'd like to reach and figure out a smart way to reach them? Most of it is grassroots, organic, that I say to you, “Karin, I read a really good book. I'm going to send you a copy of it.” Then, you tell others. So much is word of mouth right now, particularly among women, because so many of us are members of book clubs and discuss books all the time. I think word of mouth is really, really powerful.

We have so much noise going on that shouting no longer is the effective way to do it. Keep small. Try to stay small. Who knows? Some authors will become really famous as a result of that, but if you're focused on a manageable goal and audience, it makes life so much more satisfying, at least for the authors I've worked with.

KARIN: How important is it for an author to have a platform?

APRIL: Well, for nonfiction, if writers want to be traditionally published, they have to have a platform. They have to be the expert in their topic, in some way, shape or form, and have the social media following to support that. That is the way that traditional publishers separate the buys from the not buys. A platform is critical for any kind of nonfiction work published by an author who is not well-known.

For fiction, platform is typically not so important, but I do find that if people have a fairly broad following and can demonstrate that, it is what traditional publishers want to see. They want to know that you can reach a lot of people and basically do all the heavy lifting on the marketing, because they will typically not provide any or very little PR and marketing to a new author. It's all on you.

In that case, social media's probably a good tool, but again, I've just become disillusioned in watching authors try so hard to make a name for themselves on social media and just be increasingly frustrated or really hurt by the snarky, damaging feedback that comes back by people who don't know them. Behind the veil, people can say anything they want. I guess I'm trying to protect my authors' feelings because it's such a personal thing to put your book out there and we are in a really mean-spirited world now. Why expose yourself to that if you can get some readers in a different way?

Again, I'm now in this niche where I am working with authors on a very specific goal to get their books published and out to people to whom they will matter. That is a very different approach, but I'm looking at the satisfaction of a job well done and readers who have read your book and get it. That is really at odds with, I think, what the traditional publishing world and most agents are looking at. I'm the odd duck out here, but I’m happy swimming in this pond, and helping authors in a specific way that brings them satisfaction.

KARIN: You've really aligned your work with your values.

APRIL: That's right, and my values are not everyone's. If somebody really wants to be a big-name author with a great big publisher, a big budget and so forth, I'm probably not the person to do that. I hate to say this- I don't think any of my authors will ever become really big names, and that's fine with me. It's because I appreciate the value of what they're bringing, and in many cases, the quiet nature of their book, which again, is at odds with what the industry is looking for. The industry wants splash, crash, flash, cash. They want big-concept books. Those don't appeal to me, and I know there are millions of other women readers to whom these quieter books will appeal. I'm really trying to very quietly but steadily build a market for those.

KARIN: Do you find the publishing landscape depressing?

APRIL: It's discouraging. I would say, Karin, I'm in the business of managing expectations now with authors. I tend to vet authors based on shared values and goals. We decide up front that we are going to have a Plan B before I even start working with them so that we know that this wonderful book will get out in the world, albeit possibly not in the way that they might've initially thought about it, which means not traditional. But it will find its readers.

KARIN: If an author does manage to get set up with a traditional publisher, what does that look like?

APRIL: It usually isn't pretty. It takes too long for the book to get published. The author doesn't like the cover and the answer often is, “Well, too bad, this is the cover we, your publisher, are choosing.” Then, of course, they're crushed when they get little to no publicity two years down the road when their book is finally published and it's suddenly moved to backlist six weeks after pub date. It's been on the website for a little bit, and then, all of a sudden, the publisher moves on to the next book. That's the way it is. It's a numbers game, and if your book doesn't prove itself in the first few weeks, it's not going to get any more push from the publisher.

That has been a huge disappointment to authors and I've seen it happen again and again. Then, many times, they will go on and say, “I don't want to publish traditionally again,” “I'm going to self-publish, publish through a small press or a hybrid publisher,” do something different so that they can avoid going down that disappointing track again. And I support that.

KARIN: Are small presses a legitimate option?

APRIL: They are, but again, no one does any marketing or promotion anymore. That's the issue. Again, I'm trying to manage expectations and say to authors, “You need to want to do this and be able to do that,” which means saving up enough money to hire a publicist and maybe a social media expert. Unless you want to do it all, you need to hire somebody. It's like building a house. If I don't have the skills or the bandwidth, I have to hire people to build my house. It's the same with your book career: you have to hire people to do it.

I feel kind of like a Debbie Downer, but I would rather have them know that up front than be crushed when they get into this process and realize that it's not going to go the way they had hoped. That's not the reality, that's the dream. We all wanted to be a princess when we grew up but, (a) most of us will never be princesses, and (b) look at poor Meghan Markle. Wasn't what she had counted on. It's a princess dream that we all stay in our pink costumes and life is perfect,, but it doesn't always turn out to be the way we thought it would.

KARIN: It sure doesn’t. That’s a funny analogy.

What is the benefit, then, of working with a hybrid publisher? That might be a new concept for some people.

APRIL: Well, a hybrid publisher in essence is a publishing partner who will choose your book. They don't accept every book. They choose books that match their criteria, their values, their niche, whatever. They say, “Yes, we will publish you, and the way it's going to work is we will split the publishing costs, sometimes 50-50, sometimes in a different proportion, and then we will also split the profits.” You will pay let's say $10,000 up front, the publisher will pay $10,000 to publish it, and then you will start splitting the profits once it starts selling. Instead of making the 8-10% margin you would make on a traditional book, you are making 50%, more or less, on each book.

You make your money back more quickly, but again each hybrid is different, so it makes it very hard to compare. When I talk with authors about choosing a hybrid approach, we go through very carefully which hybrids would make sense for them, what their models are, what the pros are, what the drawbacks are, and I always suggest to them they talk to other authors who have been published by these hybrids so that they understand what the overall experience has been. I think it's very important to understand what current customers think.

KARIN: What kind of financial investment is it?

APRIL: The starting point realistically is $5,000 to $10,000, and many authors are now telling me it's more like $20,000 to $25,000 to $30,000, once they add in the editorial, the cover design, the publicity, the social media, the printing, and all that. Once you pull all the factors together, it can be $20,000 easily. I know that's a big chunk, but I always say to people, “Well, none of us has taken a vacation for the last year. Maybe we can put off buying a car another year. This is an investment in you. What could be more important?”

Each author has to decide her own budget, but I say save up money and think about how much this book means to you. I would rather have them invest in a book that is exactly what they wanted and gets read by people whose opinions they respect than putting it into the hands of somebody else and watching it go off the rails and not get to where they want it to be. It's an investment in a dream, really.

KARIN: Is the financial investment the same for self-publishing and hybrid?

APRIL: Hybrid can sometimes be more expensive because they have additional fees. If they print a number of books, put them in the warehouse for you and you don't sell those within a year, you start getting charged warehouse fees.

If your books are returned, which is part of the industry structure, then you get charged, sometimes, more for the returned book than you made when it got shipped out because they've got a restocking fee. In other words, there are a lot of other fees in there that authors often aren't aware of that really can add up over time.

KARIN: What are some of the hybrid publishers you recommend?

APRIL: One highly reputable one is Wonderwell. Mostly non-fiction, some memoir. Another is Girl Friday Books, which is just introducing its hybrid publishing model now. Two authors I’ve worked with are publishing with them, and so far so good.

I think it's important for authors to look clearly at each hybrid press and understand what the benefits are as well as what the potential drawbacks are. That's true of any publishing method, including traditional, and self-publishing.

KARIN: Why would someone choose hybrid over self-publishing?

APRIL: It's truly partner publishing. They will, for a price, design your cover, do the editing, distribute, print, et cetera. Instead of authors having to do it all themselves, which is what self-publishing is all about, a hybrid will bring to bear all of their resources to provide the services that an author either doesn't know how to do or doesn't have the bandwidth to do, and the hybrid publisher is paid for that.

There are really huge variations in these models, so I like to help authors sort through them, understand what their options are, what they stand to gain and what they have to be wary of.

KARIN: You're such a unique resource and professional. Do you know anyone else that does what you do?

APRIL: No, I don't know of any other agents who do this because it's a fool's game in terms of profit. You really don't make money off this, but to me, it's a critical service. Again, it's my literary philanthropy. I've made it my business to understand because I'm in the market all day every day with traditional publishers, with acquiring editors, with authors, with hybrid publishers, with self-publishing authors, and I see it all. It's a real advantage to having authors operating in all those areas. You begin to form an opinion of what works, what doesn't and what to beware of, so I can advise others as they go into it with their eyes as wide open as they can be.

I feel like we all have a way of being of service to others, and this is my way. Yes, wouldn't it be nice if, at some point, I made an income that allowed me to do something big with it, but the fact is I really enjoy this. I love working with authors.



To learn more about April Eberhardt, visit her site.

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A Conversation with Chanel Brenner

It's no surprise that the topic of grief is being written about a lot these days, even as we start to emerge from our year of hibernation. I feel fortunate to have so many seasoned writers around me, with varied perspectives and experience, who are tackling this subject and helping me (us) to make sense of it, to understand this terrain more fully and deeply.

One of these voices is a long-time, treasured member of the Unlocking Your Story workshops. In fact, Chanel Brenner used to host the Santa Monica group at her home before we went online. Her new collection of poetry, Smile, Or Else, is the winner of the 2021 Press 53 Award for Poetry and follows her ongoing grief journey after the death of her son, Riley.

Chanel is fearless on the page, something that I admire. In turn, she gives other people permission in our workshops to be bold and brave, too. Her writing awakens me to parts of myself that I didn't know existed, until her crisp language and piercing insights somehow find their way in.

Below is my interview with Chanel, where she shares how alternative forms of meditation help her to channel her ideas and poems.


Chanel Brenner's poetry has been widely published. She is the author of Vanilla Milk: A Memoir Told in Poems (Silver Birch Press, 2014), which was a finalist for the 2016 Independent Book Awards and honorable mention in the 2014 Eric Hoffer awards. Through poems and vignettes, her debut commemorates her son’s death. Kirkus called it, “A noteworthy exploration of a parent’s grief.”

Her new collection of poetry, Smile, Or Else, is the winner of the 2021 Press 53 Award for Poetry, and traces her and her family's ongoing journey toward healing.


“Clear and cutting as glass, Chanel Brenner’s poems will challenge everything you think you know about grief.”

—Alexis Rhone Fancher, author of State of Grace: The Joshua Elegies


”Chanel Brenner’s poetry stirs, provokes, elevates with its precision and insight. These poems are expertly crafted and beat with a true poet’s heart.”

—Emily Rapp Black, New York Times best-selling author of The Still Point of a Turning World

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KARIN GUTMAN: Congratulations on your new poetry collection! I just got my copy and love the cover image. Are you happy with it?

CHANEL BRENNER: Yeah. I'm thrilled with it.

KARIN: What does this image mean to you, a candle that's extinguished?

CHANEL: I don't necessarily see it as extinguished. I still see the ember there. And, so for me, it's about light and dark and having hope in the darkness. That there's still a spark there. That there's still a little bit of light.

KARIN: I recognized a few of the poems as I was reading.

CHANEL: Some of them have come from your class, or in pieces that I've read in class when I was mixing the poetry with the essays. I know Dead Child World came from one of your prompts.

KARIN: Dead Child World is one of my favorites.

CHANEL: That was my first draft. My first draft was written in my journal in your class.

KARIN: Amazing.

So, both of your poetry collections, Smile, Or Else and Vanilla Milk explore grief after your son Riley died, correct?

CHANEL: Yeah. The main difference is all the poems in Vanilla Milk were written in the first two years after he died. This new collection is everything after year two, for the most part. It's more of the later grief.

KARIN: How has your perspective shifted over time? Do you see it reflected in the second book of poems

CHANEL: I think this new collection is mostly about falling back into that early grief. How it's never really gone. Even though the time has passed, and yes, I'm healing, that really early grief is always there just below the surface. It's about how it gets tapped into.

KARIN: Do you think of poetry as telling a story?

CHANEL: The poems in a collection tell a story, I think. I don't know if there's a story arc like there is in a memoir, but I think that you can tell the story that way. Also, each individual poem has a beginning, middle and end and tells a story of a moment.

KARIN: How do you start a poem? What triggers ideas for you?

CHANEL: Poems have come from something that somebody said to me. Sometimes it's hurtful things after Riley died, that I felt caused me pain. Or something I would see. In our workshop, I was working on a poem about the woman whose daughter drowned. There was something about the interview on The Today Show that haunted me, and I was so obsessed with it. Sometimes it’s news stories, sometimes things that people say to me, sometimes something I'm dealing with like [my son] Desmond, or something that stuns me and really sticks with me, and I just keep going back to it.

In the beginning, I was just writing things that would come to mind in a journal. Sometimes I didn't even feel like I knew how to write a poem.

KARIN: Are there certain tried-and-true principles of poetry?

CHANEL: I always want to be surprised when I write a poem, and I don't want the ending to be forced. I don't want to know the ending ahead of time. I want to feel like it's a journey and when I get to that point where something truly surprises me and I'm just like, “Wow. Where did that come from?” That's when I usually end.

For me to write a poem, it has to be something I want to know more about or work through. So, I follow that curiosity.

Sometimes I will abandon poems if I am forcing an ending. Sometimes I can just cut the bottom of the poem and end it at an earlier point. But to force an ending feels very crafted or just not authentic.

KARIN: How do you take care of yourself when you're writing about painful topics?

CHANEL: I think I've told you before that I feel the writing saved me. It was a lifeline. However, there were some parts that took me a long time to be able to write about, like the night of Riley’s brain bleed, and it wrecks me when I do. I do need to have some self-care afterwards.

KARIN: What is your version of self-care?

CHANEL: Walking away from it and picking it back up when I'm ready; not forcing myself to continue to work on it. Then just doing something fun, like we used to go to Benihana's a lot, drinking some champagne, doing things that make me happy, that kind of stuff. Definitely walking, exercise, and now I even meditate. I started meditating over this stupid break.

KARIN: Why do you roll your eyes when you say that?

CHANEL: Because I never in a million years thought I would be the type of person to meditate, other than the meditating I do when I'm out on a walk. Claire Bidwell Smith has this little grief meditation course. What drew me in was each meditation is six minutes long. Right away, I thought, “My gosh, this really helps me.”

I also started taking a class with my sister with a medium. Her name is Medium Fleur. She has a bunch of very cool meditations, these grounding and centering meditations. They really work. I wanted to figure out how I channel because there have been poems—even Dead Child World to some extent—where I feel something else takes over. I don't feel like I wrote the poem. I feel like I'm pulling from whatever you want to call it—the collective, the universe, whatever term you want to use. I wanted to figure out what I'm doing when I do that. And so I've learned, when I'm on a walk for example, why poems come to me. She was talking about how when you're in a trans-state, when you're doing something repetitive, then you're more open. I've found that very interesting. Kind of out there.

KARIN: That liminal space.

CHANEL: Even when I sit and put on makeup. I get a lot of poetry ideas and ideas that come to me while I put on makeup. So, it's an important part of my day. Not just sitting at your computer or sitting with the pen and paper trying to write. It doesn't come to me that way, at least not usually for a first draft.

I think meditations help you be in your body. You can't channel if you're not in your body. I'm hoping when I go back to writing in the workshop, that I'll be able to shift into that more easily. Get out of my head into my body more.

KARIN: You say that writing saved you. But how can that be when the material, I imagine, can bring up so much pain?

CHANEL: I felt I could go one way or the other. One was very destructive: screaming, pulling my hair out, breaking things, throwing bottles. Many destructive things went through my mind. Or I could listen to the voice that said, sit down and write. I chose the latter and it prevented me from doing other destructive things. I listened to my intuition and learned how to write poetry. For me, it was a new talent, a new thing to work on. So, I think each poem and each thing I wrote created hope.

KARIN: Is hope something that you discovered through the writing process?

CHANEL: Yes, just by writing about Riley, I'm giving life to him. I always feel like the editing process is even more healing than the writing the original draft, because here I am polishing it off and making it into something that is beautiful. And I think there's always some light in the poems, even the darker ones.

In the editing process, too, there's the reframing of it. I try to look at it from an outsider’s perspective, from an unemotional point of view. That's when I'll sometimes make changes. I like that I have the power to change whatever I want about it. It's not big things, not the emotional truth, but a little this or that. To make it flow better, for the sounds of the words, for the image.

That always feels cool to be able to go in there and think, “This can be whatever I want it to be.”


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A Conversation with Emily Rapp Black

My 8-year-old daughter recently returned to in-person schooling, and it feels like the sun is shining a little bit brighter. Maybe it's also the spring blossoms reaching their peak bloom.

Or maybe, it was the great opportunity I had to dive into the creative deep with Emily Rapp Black, author of the New York Times bestselling memoir The Still Point of the Turning World about parenting a terminally ill child. Her new memoir, Sanctuary, examines resilience and what has sustained her after the loss. We talk about everything from the pitfalls of memoir to blowing up some longstanding myths about the creative process.

For Emily, writing is an act of service. It seems so obvious, but I've never heard it said quite as simply as that. Our stories are offerings to the world.


Emily Rapp Black is the author of Poster Child: A Memoir and The Still Point of the Turning World. A former Fulbright scholar, she was educated at Harvard University and has been the recipient of both the James A. Michener and Guggenheim fellowships.

She is a regular contributor to The New York Times Book Review and frequently publishes scholarly work in the fields of disability studies, bioethics, and theological studies. She is currently associate professor of creative writing at the University of California-Riverside, where she also teaches medical narratives in the School of Medicine.

 

Emily's new memoir, Sanctuary, is an attempt to unpack the various notions of resilience that we carry as a culture. Drawing on contemporary psychology, neurology, etymology, literature, art, and self-help, she shows how we need a more complex understanding of this concept when applied to stories of loss and healing and overcoming the odds, knowing that we may be asked to rebuild and reimagine our lives at any moment, and often when we least expect it.

"A meticulous examination of the aftershocks of the loss of a child.... A searing, uncompromising effort to wrestle with permanent grief." -Kirkus Reviews

 
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KARIN GUTMAN: You write a lot about grief. I think we’re all writing about loss in some way. Story is about change, moving from what we once knew to something new and different, and inherent in that is a kind of loss, right?

EMILY RAPP BLACK: That’s a great way to describe it actually.

KARIN: The kind of loss you’re writing about, child loss, is a particularly painful one. How do you take care of yourself through the writing process?

EMILY: I think for me, actually the writing itself is what helps take care of me. That to me has always been the thing that provides the solace.

When my son was diagnosed with Tay-Sachs, all I wanted to do was write. That's always been the engine of comfort. So, I guess I don't feel like I have to protect myself because I feel the writing itself is doing that for me by creating a container, however incomplete or full of holes, for the experience.

KARIN: Are there days when you don't feel like showing up to the page?

EMILY: Sure. I mean, I don't write every day. I think a man came up with that idea.

KARIN: It's a total myth, right?

EMILY: I had a teacher in grad-school, who said, “Write every day from eight to 12,” and I'm like, yeah, because you have a wife who brings you food and takes care of you. Even if you don't have children or don't want children, women are busy, women do more than men, it's the way it is. So, I write in 10-minute blocks. Sometimes I get a bee in my bonnet, as my mom would say, and then I'm kind of on a roll, but I'm a feast or famine writer. I'm not the steady as it goes builder of books. I think I wrote half of Sanctuary in two weeks when I was in a writing colony because I had the time!

KARIN: With Still Point of the Turning World, were you writing it in real-time as the events of your life were happening?

EMILY: Yeah, it was started as a blog, which is something I never thought I would do. It was my friend who said I wasn't answering the phone or responding to text. She said, “We're worried… why don't I set up this public reading space and then your friends can know that you're not leaping off a building somewhere.” I started doing it, and it gave me a concrete thing to do and a place to put it. So that book started as a huge blog that was live time, that I was writing on almost every day. And then I cut it down considerably for the book.

KARIN: How did you go about shaping this mound of clay into an actual book?

EMILY: With help is the answer. First, my agent edits a lot of my stuff. She’ll say “Why is this 3,000 pages?” like “What's wrong with you?” And then she'll send it to my editor, and the editor that I work with, Andrea Walker at Random House, is like my soul-spirit-intellectual-animal person. When I met her, I thought, Oh my God, you are my person.

Editors are vital. I don't write in a linear way, and I like that. I think most people’s memories and lives are not linear in any respect. But I do need help in shaping. I had this whole chapter about action movies, and I was really attached to it. My editor said, “We're not putting this in the book. Stop it.”

When I'm working with an editor at a [traditional publishing] house, I'm willing to make concessions, because they are working with me to put something in the world. I'm not one of those people who's like, “Oh, I'm attached this artistic moment.” If it's not going to work for the majority of readers, then no one's going to read it, and then why am I doing this? So, it's having a team of people that you really trust.

KARIN: You said that every book has its own life, and that it's hard to predict at the beginning. With your most recent book, Sanctuary, what did you know for sure from the start?

EMILY: When you lose anyone, especially when you lose a child, people's platitudes are just offensive. So, I thought: I want to tell the truth about how hard this was. I was adamantly not going to write about Ronan's death in the first book, because I felt he was still alive. And it was important to me that that book ends with him still alive. But then people kept saying to me, “It's great that he had a peaceful death.” I thought: No one gets that. Don't sugarcoat this shit. So, I wrote his death scene, because that sucked. I did tons of preparation for it. Still sucked.

And then also how strange it is to have a child that wouldn't have existed had my other child not died. And how is it to explain that to her. She gets it in some sense, she knows about Ronan. We say the word die. We don't say passed, we don't say gone to a better place. We certainly don't say he went to heaven, because I don't believe that. I don't want her to believe it either.

I really bristle anytime somebody tries to put me in a metaphorical box. And I think: No, actually my truth of this experience is this. It's not something that’s going to fit on a crochet circle or a felt banner. That's not going to work.

KARIN: Is there a discovery process as you’re writing?

EMILY: Yeah. It was like pulling together certain childhood memories that connected to the live-time story that I was telling. Stuff I’d forgotten about. I think writing about life is kind of like that. Memories that you didn't think really had any traction in your current life, do. It's finding the points of connection, the magnetic connection.

KARIN: You say this book is about resilience, and examining what sustained you after Ronan’s death. What did you discover about resilience?

EMILY: It's not at all the way we use it in common vernacular. It's not about strength, or it's a different kind of strength. I think Americans, especially, understand strength as powering through—a lot of bravado, never give up, like push. But resilience is not that, it's about breaking to bend. You can't be resilient if you can't bend and break.

So, to me, it was a real a gift to understand the world is less about this grit, and being synonymous with the aggressive form of strength, and more about allowing and reshaping around it. Without saying, "I've overcome my problems, and now ‘Yay’." That's stupid. People kept telling me, “Oh, now you got your life back.” And I thought: I never didn't have my life. I'm still alive. I was alive when my son was sick.

There's no leaping over the fence into a better life. It doesn't work that way. A lot of memoirs, I think, tend to propagate that myth.

KARIN: You are re-defining and re-framing the language we use that isn't accurate to the experience. I find that incredibly empowering.

EMILY: I always tell students, if you're having trouble thinking about what to write, choose a word that you hear a lot and then look up its roots. So for resilience, the Latin root is resilien, which is the stuff that's in butterfly wings that holds it together, the sticky stuff, these proteins. Butterflies can fly through wind, which is pretty strong, but you could tear its wings. That is resilience. Vulnerability and strength combined. That's why the central image of butterflies is one of the primary images of the book—not because I love butterflies so much, but because they illustrate this combo of strength and vulnerability.

KARIN: How do you work with your students who are writing memoir?

EMILY: Well, I do a lot of prompts. I think a lot of it is just providing structure and saying, “Write about this for five or 10 minutes.” Time under tension. That's really helpful, I think, just to execute one thing within the timeframe. Because otherwise you think: Where do I start? Right?

KARIN: It can be overwhelming.

EMILY: Yeah, it's totally overwhelming. So, I use a lot of generative exercises especially with people who are just starting out. But when people come to me with a full-length manuscript, then it's more of an editorial. Where's the beginning? Where's the end?

KARIN: What common pitfalls do you notice in memoir manuscripts?

EMILY: Memoirs tend to have what I like to call the tyranny of the “and then.” And then this happened, and then this happens… it’s like, oh my God, I don't care. It has to have a beautiful gesture of opening, and it has to take a shape that isn't going to shock your reader—or maybe it will—but it's going to surprise them even if they know what's going to happen. There has to be tension, there has to be a story. There has to be a ‘why’, like why are we writing this? Who is it for?

Also, people think that they must put in everything that's happened to them. And that's a mistake. You don't have to have a terrible life to write a memoir, but you have to artistically construct it so that the reader is engaged with language, propulsion, and the plot. There has to be a plot, the characters have to be well-defined. The place has to be rendered.

People, especially when they write memoir, forget that they have a body. You have to have sensory details, concrete details. Where are you in space and time? Are we on the moon? One of the benefits I've taken from reluctantly teaching fantasy to undergraduates, which is applicable to memoir, is world building. So now I call it world building, rather than setting the stage. The world is your house, your mind, your bedroom, your body, your closet, whatever. You can't just start telling us things about your life without concretizing them in the world.

KARIN: How do you think about your audience?

EMILY: If I hadn't written Still Point, I would have killed myself. There's just no other way to say it. Writing the book is what kept me going with some kind of meaning and purpose that wasn't just dread and sadness and the fucking horrible grief and guilt. It was the only thing that was happy. So, I had no idea who the audience would be and didn't even think there would be one, which was kind of great. I didn't care. I did what I wanted, and it turned out to be something that I was proud of and that felt meaningful to me.

With Sanctuary, I think a lot of people have the experience of rebuilding their life many times throughout their lives. I think there's this myth that once you've got it all settled, then everything's great. That's just not true. So, the audience was intended to be broader, and it's also a more complicated book, so people are going to bring more complicated feelings to the page. With Still Point, it's really hard to quibble with a writer who is writing about their dying child. But Sanctuary has had a different reception, which is satisfying to me, because it means that it's pissing some people off. And I think that's actually good.

KARIN: Do you have a particular reader in mind when you write?

EMILY: No. I definitely am thinking how to shape the story so that it matters to someone apart from me, but when I first do it, I'm just trying to figure it out. But I think a lot of the ‘why’ of writing—who's my audience, why am I writing this—that processing needs to happen off the page. I don't want to process with my reader why I'm writing this.

I really see writing as an act of service. If it's going to serve somebody and help them see their life in a different way, and make them want to live for another day, then I feel that's my job.

KARIN: How much perspective or distance do you think a writer needs to have on what they're writing about?

EMILY: I don't know, it depends. Sometimes people need to wait to write about something if they're villainizing people. That's problematic. But I think you can get perspective by writing about it. And if you're not getting perspective, then you just stop for a bit.

Every quarter I tell my students on the last day: We're leaving class right now, and your task is to go and do nothing for the next two hours. Nothing. Just go walk around. The only stipulation is you can't be on electronics. Just stumble around, see what happens. Because we don't think that's important. We don't give ourselves enough elastic time to go out and sharpen our lenses through which we see the world. That's what memoir is.

KARIN: How do you handle privacy issues, say regarding your daughter? Do you think she might read what you write one day?

EMILY: I'll answer people's questions about anything that happens in the book, but I won't talk about what she's up to now. That's my own private life. But I'm glad that I have [the book] for her because I think it shows her connection to her brother, which is important, and that she has some kind of a documentation of it. Also, really important that she knows she wasn't a replacement child. Not that that even exists, but that she was wanted and loved and planned for and that that is independent from what happened to her brother.

KARIN: I know some writers who are writing about grief and loss feel concerned that their narratives will be “too dark.” What would you say to them?

EMILY: Writing about death is more about writing about life. If you've ever watched someone die you understand how precious life is and you feel like you are more alive than you've ever been. Which was a shock to me. Or, wanting to feel alive when faced with death is a very human reaction.

I don't think it's dark at all. I think it's necessary. I think it's inevitable. Why not write about something that everyone's going to experience?

I've always really gravitated toward stories that have high stakes. I'm not going to write a beach book. I wish I could, but I just can't. I don’t care enough.

So, I think if you're going to write about grief and loss, the main thing I would say is make sure you're concretizing it. Make sure we are in your body. Earn your abstractions. You need to ground us in where we are, who we are. That way you can take anyone anywhere if they feel like they know where they are in the world, they're oriented, and that they feel what you feel. Not just in your heart or in your mind, but on your skin, in the air. People forget about that. The sensory stuff is super important.




Buy the book!

To learn more about Emily Rapp Black, visit her
site.

See all interviews

 
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Circe Consulting is a full-service business for writers at every stage of their careers. Circe Founders Emily Rapp Black and Gina Frangello offer classes, retreats and editorial consulting.

Both Gina and Emily are longtime educators at the university level, have published numerous memoirs, novels and short story collections between them, and have fostered dozens of additional books into the world as editors, publishers and ghost-writers.

In addition, both specialize in working with survivors of loss, illness, and grief and have collective experience in facilitating therapeutic groups and in life coaching.

Learn more

 
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