The Doctor Is In - With Book Tour Advice No Less!

Every Friday I turn my blog into a couch and Dr. Sue gives writerly therapy. This week the she appropriately takes on a book tour issue. If you have questions for the doctor please write her at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.

Note from Dr. Sue: I occasionally give workshops in my Brooklyn Heights office on topics of interest to writers. There are two scheduled for next month: March 18 (Overcoming Writer’s Block) and March 25 (Overcoming Fear of Success). For more information, or if you’d like to be notified about future workshops, email me at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.

BOOK TOUR BLUES

Dear Dr. Sue,

M. J.’s doing this great Book Tour Tool Kit and it occurred to me that there should be some psychological advice in it, so here’s a question regarding the psyche and book tours.

The Dalai Lama says that if you compare yourself to those who have more you will always be unhappy, and if you compare yourself to those who have less you will always be happy.

I try to do this. Especially on tour. But, especially on tour, it doesn't work.

I'm a mildly successful author—meaning that I have three novels out and a contract that will keep me writing for the next two years. I have some name recognition and I get fan mail on a pretty regular basis. I know I am one of the lucky ones. So lucky, in fact, that I am one of the 15% of published authors who actually get tours.

And yet.

No matter how good my tour seems to go, I get depressed while on the road and crash when I get back. And I know I am not alone. I have several author friends who admit this to me secretly though none of us would ever go public with it lest our tours be taken away from us and given to other writers more thankful and less greedy.

Here's what happens: If there are five books on the shelf when I do a stop-in stock signing I want there to be twelve. If there are ten people at a reading I want there to be twenty. If I go to a store and I'm not stocked there, I'm miserable even if at the next store I'm on a front table.

As I go from store to store and meet and greet, all I can see are the dozens and dozens of books around me that sell better and get more reviews and whose authors get more media coverage.

Normally, I do not beat myself up. Normally, I am a pretty easygoing writer who counts her blessings and knows she is considered successful. Not a mega-author, but one who has a solid career. Except when I come home from a tour I fear for my career and can't see any way I will ever grow my readership or really break out bigger as a writer.

Am I just being realistic about the state of the business and facing the facts that majority of writers never earn out and never break out? Am I delusional the rest of the time, confusing my happiness at being a writer with doing better than I am, and when I go on tour I realize I'm just not a big deal? Is my head in the sand for all the non-tour days?

Or is something else happening to me while I'm away on tour?

Signed,
Bad Zen Student

Dear Zen:

I think something else is happening.

This is not to discount the role of envy and competition in a writer’s life. As M. J. points out, the odds of success are getting worse every day as the number of readers diminishes and the ranks of published writers continue to swell. This is not a situation designed to enhance the tranquility of even the most dedicated student of Zen.

But, as you point out, you normally cope well with the uncertainties of your career. You count your blessings, as the Dalai Lama recommends, and you don’t lose sleep over what you can’t change.

You do lose sleep on tour, though. You also lose the reassuring presence of loved ones, the security of familiar surroundings, “down time” in which to relax and reflect, and your accustomed diet and exercise routines. Let’s take a look at some of the experiences of authors who have contributed to the Book Tour Tool Kit on this blog (and note that all of them, like you, are grateful for the privilege of touring):

“After visiting ten stores a day for a week straight, everything began to blur. I couldn’t remember what store I was in, where I parked, or what my books were about.” (J. A. Konrath)
“If you get a bad review, for instance, and you’re home, surrounded by your family and friends, it’s a quick punch in the gut and you move on, but if you’re alone in a hotel in a strange city, you have to work much harder to keep that review from pushing you into a downward spiral where you doubt everything you’ve ever written.” (Lisa Tucker)
“[Bring] Advil for muscle aches. Flying coach and hotel beds... you'll need it.” (Robert Ferrigno)
“The worst part is being away from my family (especially from my little girl) for way too long.” (Barry Eisler)
“I don't do sightseeing or tourism, although I would like to. If I've seen more than the airport, the escort's car, three radio stations, two dozen bookstores and the hotel, I feel like I haven't worked hard enough.” (Lee Child)

These conditions could cause even a monk to crack.

And, unlike Zen monks, authors tend to be self-flagellating, perfectionistic control freaks. We are used to exercising complete autonomy through creating entire worlds and populating them with characters who live and die by our whim. We give ourselves a task—write a mystery that’s impossible for the reader to solve, but which makes perfect sense at the end; illustrate the futility of war through a doomed intercultural romance; invent a humanoid species with its own codes of behavior and morality that nonetheless resonates with the reader. We obsess over how to accomplish our goals. We ruminate over each detail, changing word order, chronology, and the names and hair colors of our characters. And when we are done and the work is out there, even if it is well received, we continue to torture ourselves with visions of what we could have done differently, to make the story work better.

On tour, you’re faced with another important task, that of selling your books. But you have next to no control over whether you succeed. You can increase the odds by taking classes and reading blogs like M. J.’s and by being friendly, cooperative, punctual, and neat, but if the bookstore schedules your talk for the day of the local Big Game, or the radio show staff forgets you’re coming entirely, you can’t rewrite the scene to your satisfaction. You can’t make the five shelved books into twelve, or the ten-member audience into twenty, through willpower or better descriptive technique. You just have to take it—and take it, not in the familiar comfort of your living room or studio, with loved ones just a summons away, but surrounded by strangers, in an unfamiliar bookstore or on a lumpy bed, in a town you have never seen before (and won’t see much of on the tour, either).

How can you overcome this? You can’t. You can prepare for it, though, and mitigate some of the bad effects.

When you pack, be sure your clothes are comfortable and familiar. If you do buy a new outfit just for the tour, wear it around your home before packing it. This will minimize the chance of such surprises as showing too much cleavage when you bend over to sign your books. More important, you will associate the clothes with your home when you’re away. Pack other familiar objects as well— small pictures of your loved ones; a trinket to wear or keep in your pocket as you travel and read; any little things that remind you that you are a person with a home, friends, and control over many aspects of her life.

Alcohol plays a prominent role on some tours. Try to minimize your consumption. Even though a glass of wine or a cocktail can lift your spirits temporarily, alcohol eventually depresses your system and interrupts your sleep—two effects you don’t want when you’re already sleep-deprived and disoriented.

Keep a journal of your tour. Write about whatever preoccupies you, whether it’s the low turnout, the drunk heckler, the warmhearted indie owner, or the fact that you miss your cat. Writing helps writers to process their feelings and experiences—but you knew that. Use your gifts to keep yourself sane. Imagine sharing your journal with friends and family on your return; this will keep your loved ones—and the imminence of your return—present to you when you’re homesick.

Above all, don’t blame yourself for these feelings. They’re expectable and common, and they’ll dissipate once you’ve been home for a while.

If other book-tour veterans have any tips for Zen, please share them in the Comments section.

Susan O’Doherty, Ph.D., is a clinical psychologist with a New York City-based practice. A well-published author herself,she specializes in issues affecting writers. Send your questions to her at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.

Comments

[katharine weber]

I think it's really important to have a sense of humor about everything. And to remember that you are a writer, so nothing is wasted, no bizarre or even excruciating experience is without its intriguing aspects, especially if you are a writer of fiction.

[Stephen D. Rogers]

I think that so much pressure is being put on authors to promote that we think a tour (or any other promotion) will provide quick, easily identifiable results. When the no such earth-shattering change takes place, we feel let down.

[Leora Skolkin Smith]

I can't help feeling that the definitions of "success" are very different for different writers. Not to minimize the trauma of being out in performance-orientated way during a book tour but I think (and hope this won't be a provocative thing to say) that how many books are on a bookshelf as a measure alone of "success" is a measurement I can't really use (just speaking for myself!) Or "media coverage" which has become the measurement in the last decade. It feels like a very limited sense of what one can achieve in writing and since books are completely immeasurable in these terms as far as literary quality, I think it's a disservice to oneself to internalize a system that should, at the very least, pose questions about the society-at-large and what it values as success.

Of course, I fall prey to this internalization often but am most happy out of it.

The book tour is fun for me anyway, experiments with different audiences and I guess I really enjoy it. Even if two people show up--it's how they received your work that really matters to me, not the numbers. And it can be really elating and confirming. Even the disasters are sort of weird and fun. I had the sound of toilets flushing as background at my last reading because it was held near the ladies and men's room.It's an experience to really tell funny stories about.

[Leora Skolkin-Smith]

Just to add: there was a few months back a wonderful essay by Cynthia Ozick about her "book tour"-- wish I knew how to acces it. It was told with such wisdom and laughter and probing, from one of our most formidable authors whose "numbers" certainly couldn't rival most popular authors...

I think it was back in the fall. Worth reading, for sure.

[Dr.Sue]

Katharine and Stephen, thank you both for your wise words.

And, Leora, I was at that reading, and it was great! The flushing toilets just made everyone root for you more.

[Hank]

I believe "ESSAY; Lighting Out for the Territory" at the NY Times may be the Ozick article to which Leora alluded. It's available online.

[Dr.Sue]

Thanks, Hank, and thank you, Leora. It's a great essay.

[Leora Skolkin Smith]

Thanks, Hank! Glad you found it.