Should I birth a book? Top tips from a ‘book doula’

By Irene Guijt - 12 August 2024
Should I birth a book? Top tips from a ‘book doula’

Always wanted to write that book about progressive change but don’t know where to start? Oxfam’s Irene Guijt shares seven tips from an expert…

Imagine a conversation with a book midwife, a book doula. I had one, sitting opposite Ariane Conrad – a woman who helps people give birth to books. Not just any books. But books on social change, progressive issues. She’s been behind some bestsellers, most recently Jon Alexander’s Citizen, which she coauthored. Ariane organises annual book birthing retreats to see if you have an idea worth seeing the light of day. 

I have started writing on the evidence base for hope. This idea builds on work by my colleague Ruth Mayne and I on today’s examples that can inspire radically better futures. My question going into the four day event with Ariane was ‘is this worthy of a book?’ and what’s involved. I’ve written books before, but all of them were on research methodology, natural resource management or rural change. This book is meant to be a journey through a much broader issue of our times – asking what role hope – the rebellious, active kind – can play in countering the widespread despair experienced by many in today’s polycrisis. 

Ariane and my fellow would-be authors were inspiring and loads of fun. Here are my key takeaways from multiple lightbulb moments and a notebook bursting at the seams.

  1. Give your work a unique and personal angle. No topic is truly novel, unless about emerging history. All books are takes on a topic, building on other work. A good book adds to a societal conversation but offers a new storyline. And it requires bringing yourself into the book. In one session, we reflected on three personal experiences that had influenced the book. Is there a way to bring those into the story? Can they help frame the compelling, single message that will get it noticed? What’s my unique angle and why would this book matter NOW?
  2. There’s no such thing as a general reader for non-fiction. What you have to say is only as important as what your audience needs. Audiences need to be specific, not just ‘policy makers’ or ‘activists’. We defined our ideal audience with specific demographics and psychographics. What are their key concerns and anxieties or pain points with which you draw them in? You’ll have to educate your publisher about your specific audience, your 1000 superfans.
  3. Imagine the journey for the reader. One of the exercises involved looking at anonymised tables of contents. So much fun! We had to guess the kind of author, the focus of the book and the intended audience. A table of contents are the journey for the reader. It can draw you in by its clarity or warmth or quirkiness. So I’m approaching the book as an architecture project, a road map of rebellious, active hope that might energise and inspire changemakers.
  4. Know the sector, take a deep breath. It’s a long haul and there’s no little help from publishers. Books take years to be written and sometimes years to get published. Publishers these days are not one’s friend unless you’re already a big name with best-seller status. They do limited marketing, offer limited editing support and are extremely picky. In the US alone, about 3 million books get published per year – 2.3 million of them self-published! The average US book now sells less than 1000 copies over its lifetime. Sobering… So in a crowded market, brands stand out. (Oh, and a US$20 book may give as little as 0.25 cents of income per book. Don’t expect to amass riches.)
  5. Birth is just the start! Any writing exists to be read. Social change books yearn to be part of a societal conversation. And that takes effort. Most book marketing is undertaken by authors, not publishers. So once the book is out, more work is needed to get it to the audience. Jon Alexander set out to accept EVERY invitation to talk about their book for a year after it came out. He created a huge curious crowd during the writing process by asking them for feedback on chapters. It got me thinking about my version of marketing and how it could be part of the writing journey. Where does the conversation on hope in a polycrisis best fit and how can I connect this with my book? Will I focus on Instagram, Substack or Medium or Linked In? (Jon Alexander recommended choosing one as each medium asks a lot of work.)
  6. You don’t need to do it alone. I don’t have enough time to write in my day-to-day job. So my writing muscles are rusty and uncertainty is a familiar ‘friend’. But I go to the gym and know what it’s like to feel the strength that comes from consistent practice. How reassuring then to find that writing gyms exist! A dear friend told me about the LWS community, for example, an online facility of hundreds of writers who give and get support to help its members sit and put words on paper. In fact, it’s in one of their morning sessions that I’m finalising this blog. A quiet morning hour in the presence of other people’s concentration where I feel focused and able.
  7. What’s my voice? This is I think for me the most difficult one. Having been brainwashed to think only in terms of emails or policy reports, writing in my own voice feels unfamiliar. How do I bring me into the book? What is the ‘story of self, of us, of now’ that will bring the cadence and flavour to the book? I don’t know yet what I sound like. But writing each day even if for only an hour has made me more comfortable with just pouring it out. Throw up, then clear up. First drafts are private, I’m writing for me. The second drafts are for friends, the third for the audience, and the fourth is for critics.

Knowing that there is no wrong way to start a piece of writing, I’m taking a magpie approach. Finding nuggets of ideas, from other books, research. And taking a deep breath by talking about this with an ever greater number of people. Like in this blog.

So there you have it. I consider myself officially pregnant with a book on hope. How cool is that? Time will tell whether its gestation period is closer to that of a human or an elephant (655 days, apparently), but I’m on my way. Watch this space.

 

 

Irene Guijt, Head of Research, Oxfam Great Britain.

This first appeared on From Poverty to Power.

Photo by Todoran Bogdan

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