Do NOT miss this if you're in NYC

Robert Caro is my hero.  He's a masterful biographer, skilled storyteller, and while he's earned and won every prize under the sun, some of them twice, you never get the sense he's all that full of himself.

I had the great pleasure of hearing him give the keynote address at the Biographers Int'l Organization conference in 2011. On May 2, 2012 I shelled out actual cash money to hear him at the 92YTribeca. Tonight you can hear him at Barnes and Noble Union Square at 7pm, for free.


When he spoke last week he said a couple things that I didn't even have to write down to remember.

He said the Lord Acton quote we all learned in college ("Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely") wasn't right.  He thinks power reveals character.  You see what a man (or woman, I presume, although both Mr. Caro's great subjects were men) is all about when he has power.  When LBJ became President, Mr Caro pointed out, his goal was to eradicate poverty.  That's the thing we all forget now, was that LBJ wanted to use the power of the presidency to end poverty.

And when asked about his writing habits, Mr. Caro said he outlined everything at the start of the actual writing.  He'd also get "what this book is about" down to about two paragraphs.  Those two paragraphs helped him focus; helped him remember what to put in, leave out, and what to make a footnote.  (There was an odd watery sound as the QueryShark literally leaped for joy hearing THAT let me tell you.)  Then he told us how long it took him to get the book down to those two paragraphs. Would you like to guess what he said?

Here are the choices:

1. Two hours
2. Two days
3. Two weeks
4. Two months
5. Two years

Let me know in the comments column what you think the correct answer is. No fair if you attended the event and heard the answer, ok?

I think Robert Caro is one of those writers you should hear and read no matter what you read or write.  He's very simply a master of the craft and there just aren't that many of them.

When I talk about voice, this is what I mean

I subscribe to several book club email lists through the Brooklyn Public Library.  (Your library probably has these too-click on "join book clubs" to find out.)

The emails from Suzanne at DearReader.com are a treasure trove of books I don't hear about in other places: not front-list books that are getting a big push from publishers near pub date.

Today's email was not only about an interesting book, it provides an excellent example of voice in non-fiction.  It's by Amy Stewart.

Fighting over Food Scraps: Worms vs. Chickens


Before we got chickens, the worms had a very easy life. They lived in a nice comfortable bin on the porch outside my kitchen door, and tasty food rained down upon them a couple times a day.


In the morning, they'd get spent coffee grounds and maybe an eggshell or the crusts of a piece of toast. Later in the afternoon, they might get a banana peel or an apple core. And at night, there were usually some vegetable trimmings or a little leftover pasta or rice.


It's no wonder worms follow humans wherever we go: we are their personal chefs.


I know a woman who started eating more mangoes and melons just because I told her that worms were partial to the rinds. I made her promise that she was actually eating the fruit and only giving them the scraps. "They eat trash," I said. "You understand that,right? You don't have to actually buy food for them!"


But this is the kind of affection that earthworms inspire. They are clean, quiet, hardworking pets, eager to please and happy to produce something of value--rich earthworm castings, the ultimate plant food--in exchange for a good meal. And I was happy to provide for them--until I got chickens. Suddenly, the worms had competition.

Backyard hens do take a little more care than worms--I can't leave them unattended when I go away on vacation, and their shelter is a little more complicated than the worms'--but I must admit that they are infinitely more rewarding.


My Buff Orpington, Ladybird, is as pleasant and affectionate as a cat, happy to settle down in my lap when I sit outside. And, like the worms, they produce something useful: eggs. The manure is a welcome addition to the compost pile, too.


But now I have this dilemma. Who gets the kitchen scraps? The chickens go crazy for crusts of bread, bits of strawberry, and apple cores. Their delight is so much more obvious than that of the worms, too. They rush up to me, hopping around and squawking in hopes of getting the first bite. The worms might be happy to have a treat, but they certainly don't know how to show it.


So the compromise--if it could be called that--is to give the chickens whatever they want and to let the worms have the rest. The birds don't care about coffee grounds and they are strangely uninterested in lettuce. They don't know what to do with a banana peel. So the worms continue to enjoy those treats, while the chickens get the rest. And they each continue to return the favor by turning those scraps into food for the soil, and food for me. If only my cat would do the same!

This is a stellar example of voice: it's distinctive, and fun. It makes you want to read more. It makes you think of the author as a friend. It's got energy and zest.


This is fun without being flippant, informative without being pedantic, humorous without being silly.  It makes me want to read all Amy Stewart's books (and it's no surprise they're published by Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill; their catalog will have you clicking "order order order" till your finger -- or your bank -- breaks.)

Compelling voice is tricky in a novel; it's VERY tricky in non-fiction where you must color within the lines of creativity.


What non-fiction books would you use as examples of voice?

If you're writing non-fiction, here are four questions you need to answer

Eric Nelson, executive editor at Wiley is a really smart guy. Of course I follow him on Twitter.  Tonight, apropos of nothing, he dropped these helpful hints into the scrum (my guess is he's reading proposals and feeling frustrated.)

If you're writing a nonfiction book, here's a few questions to answer. Like, actually write them down.

#1. What is your best story, and how does it explain the larger argument of your book?

#2. What's a key distinction you draw in the book, and why has no one else drawn it?

#3. What's the key moment in the recent past that made the world the way it is today? (At least the part of the world you're describing.)

#4. Why now? What we do we know now, but didn't 6 months or 6 years ago?

Hit me with your best pitch if you want to get to first base

A  blog post about platform  here elicited some questions.  Here's one from Loretta Ross (remember her name; you're going to know her as an amazing writer one of these days.)

How about this one, Janet? I have a friend who, as a teenager in the mid fifties and early sixties, worked as a batboy (and scoreboard operator and all-around-gopher) for the New York Yankees. He still has tons of memorabilia and all kinds of great stories about things that happened on and off field. Assuming that I can get him to stop *talking* about writing a book about it and get him to actually sit down and *write* the damn thing, how much of a platform would he need before pitching something like that?

(Seriously, sometimes I just want to duct tape him to a chair and say, "look, just tell ME your stories and I'LL write it for you!")



He doesn't need much platform--the Yankees have platform enough for everyone.

But, what he needs is a book. "Great stories" are what grandpa tells at the dinner table. When everyone tells him he should write a book, sometimes he does, queries me, and can't understand why I don't fall all over myself to sign him right up.

My guess is hanging out with Yankees was amazing, and meeting Marilyn Monroe when she was married to Joe DiMaggio was amazing, and yoda yoda yoda all amazing that was. It's not new. It's fun to hear about Gramps being there, but if he's not MY Gramps, I'm less inclined to care.

What does make me care is if:

1. It reveals something previously unknown and hopefully horrifying: like the pitching lineup sacrificed goats in the locker room, or traded wives during the playoffs or something that will get people hot under the collar and reaching for their rolodex to call their lawyers.


2.  The stories are attached to a motivational how-to book of some sort: Everything I know about agenting, I learned as a bat boy for the Yankees, etc.



This applies to most memoirs these days. I get a lot of queries from folks who have had some very interesting things happen to them, and understandably want to tell their story to an audience. That's all well and good but the question I have to ask is "who wants to listen to this and why." The answer they give is largely why they want to tell the story, not why anyone would want to hear it. That's the trick with memoir.

I want to read something that will tell me something I didn't know, or teach me something I want to learn.  Tell me that and you've got a book.  Tell me they're great stories and I like to read great stories and you're missing the pitch.

When you're querying non-fiction

Before you finalize your query letter for any work of non-fiction, you should google your subject's name and see what comes up. Generally it's the Wikipedia page. Read it.

If you're querying me about a biography, that's exactly what I'm going to do after I read your query.  The reason I do that is because one of the things I look for in a proposed project is whether there is something fresh and new to say about a subject: new information; new analysis, new sources.

If you've queried me for a project and you fail to mention some of the basic things I can find in a quick google search, particularly the negative ones,  it does not bode well for the quality of your research.

And if Wikipedia and the generally available sources are wrong? Hurray! This is exactly the kind of information you WANT to include: "everything we think we know about Subject X is wrong, and my book will fix that."

AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

"I am seeking representation for my novel, a completed Non-Fiction Romantic Crime Drama."


Even if your novel observes the laws of gravity, and respects the laws of physics you do not ever say your novel is non-fiction. Many things in a novel may be true. That does not make it non-fiction.

A "non-fiction novel" is narrative non-fiction. You'll see "non-fiction novel" used to describe early works in this category; IN COLD BLOOD is a classic example.

But now, and forever onward, here's the rule:

1. Novels are fiction by definition. (no fiction novels much like there is no presidential president)

2. Non-fiction with a narrative arc, and a riproaring good story is  "narrative non-fiction."

3. If you don't observe this rule, I will arrange for my non-fictional flying monkeys to visit you.

Let's talk about non-fiction query letters for a minute

I get a lot of queries for non-fiction; recently I've noticed you're giving in to temptation to list a series of problem, often in the form of rhetorical questions.

(We all know rhetorical questions are the kiss of death in a query right?)

I sense these query writers learned their pitching skills from late night television "What would you say if I could chop that tomato with a sword!"

(to which I'd say "I hope you're not planning to chop tomatoes in MY kitchen" but you get the point.)

Here's the thing about non-fiction; you need to pitch the SOLUTION right up front with the problem.  Your book is about the solution first and foremost, not the problem.

Your book is about why your solution is better, faster, smarter than anyone else's.

If you're pitching a book about writing query letters you might say:

This book demonstrates an effective way to write and revise queries so writers communicate what their books are about in clear concise language.

The problem is: you know you're writing a crappy query letter.
The solution is: I'm going to show you how to write and revise your way out of the crap heap.

How you phrase that first sentence in a query letter for any non-fiction book can be the difference between me scoffing (tomato/sword) and me being interested (book that solves a problem I see everyday)

Capisce?