I headed to New York City a few days ago to meet with the Touchstone publicity folks about the marketing plan for The Black Girl Next Door.  It was a thrilling, overwhelming and confusing meeting.

I’m in no position to offer advice, but I want to offer some insights that might encourage authors and aspiring writers.

Note:  The following list represents what I have learned but have not yet mastered.

1)  It’s never to early to consider marketing and book promotion.

My book proposal included a brief discussion of marketing and promotion, but I spent most of the space talking about the target audience rather than how to REACH that audience.

2) The craft of promotion is an important as the craft of writing.

Once you complete the manuscript and it goes into production, all energy and effort shifts to talk about promotion.  Promotion is a craft and a skill so spend some time getting educated.  Scour the web, take a look at what has worked for other books like yours.  Publicity folks and others want to know what YOU are prepared to do.  They want to know how YOU plan to promote you book.  In other words, if you don’t tell them, they may not have time to create a particular plan for your book.

3) It’s all about your platform.

Get used to hearing this word–it’s your calling card.  Your platform is your brand, image, and base of recognition and operation.  Your network and contacts are another crucial component of your platform.  The stronger and bigger your platform, the bigger the advance, the more attention in terms of promotion.  That leads me to the Catch 22:  When you are a newbie writer, you may not have a huge platform.    If you lack a platform, you will have to build one by connecting to communities of interest to you.   The web is a great for this.

4) It’s all about your list.

No, I’m not talking about your list of allergies of favorite foods, I’m talking about your email list.  Yes, you need to develop an email list.  You need to manage it and keep it updated.  I’m learning about how to do this and will keep you posted.

5) You and your publisher might share the same goal but might have different agendas.

You and your publisher are united in the quest to sell as many books as possible.  But publicity is all about contacts and insider information, both of which are assets.  Publicists cultivate relationships that they want to control and may not grant you the direct access you might want.  Don’t wast time being offended.   Understand the business.  Cultivate your own contacts.  Be open, but be aware of how and what information you decide to share and recognize that you are cultivating proprietary information as well.

6) Get creative.

Think “off the grid” about how you might promote your book or connect with potential readers.

7) Get help.

Most newbie authors can’t afford to pay a private book publicist.  But there’s a great deal of help and information available to motivated writers.   Note: Keep checking my blogroll to see what I’ve found in terms of resources.  Recognize that you might want to pay for a consultation or seek out other authors who will be willing to share their experiences.

Get organized.

This is not the time to write on scraps of paper or on your hand.  Set up a datbase, get an email list management program.  Keep track of the sites you visit.

9) Get serious.

You can’t be half-hearted about promotion.  If your lucky, the publicity people at the press will focus on your book for a few months before the release and then watch the results of what they’ve done.  After that, they have to move on to the next new thing.  Again, don’t waste time being offended.  GET CLEAR AND GET IN GEAR.

10) Never give up.

No one can define how much energy you are willing and able to devote to promotion or spreading your book’s message.  Don’t substitute other people’s expectations for you own.

In recent days, I have been blessed by the encouragement of two wonderful writers. Today’s post is about Firoozeh Dumas’ wonderful work.

When I first heard Firoozeh interviewed about Funny in Farsi: A Memoir of Growing Up Iranian in America a few years ago, I pulled my car off the road and parked to listen to her.  Like me, Firoozeh was raised in suburban California and felt like an outsider.  I hadn’t yet committed to writing my own story, but remeber feeling so inspired by her humor and her candor.

I just finisher her most recent book, Laughing Without an Accent: Adventures of an Iranian American at Home and Abroad.  It was just the book I needed to rescue me from this dreary political season.  Dumas finds the funny in expected, often uncomfortable, spaces in American life.  Her shimmering insights reveal the depth of our shared humanity and our struggles to recognize it.

I’ve read these essays waiting for the school bell to ring, in bed, at lunch, and in my office.  No matter where I’ve been, I’ve laughed out loud, and smiled at the end of every one.  Whenever I’ve pulled myself away from this book, I plot my return and look forward to my next encounter with Dumas’ wit.

Writing long essays is often easier than writing short ones, because an author has forces herself to make fewer choices.  Her spare but well-crafted essays awed me as an author.

Thanks to a mutual friend, I had the chance to speak with Firoozeh on the phone.  She was as wonderful in person as her words were on the page.

If you’ve never read her work, don’t deny yourself the pleasure.

Here’s a question:  Is a quiet mind a prerequisite for good writing?  How do can a writer quiet her mind?

I began a meditation class a few weeks ago in the hopes of centering my energy.  I’ve been distracted lately and my powers of concentration have felt nonexistent.

I know exactly why.   I’ve been gathering papers, meeting with my lawyer and trying to get my divorce finalized.  My son began a new school and a new schedule.

I’ve meditated before but never in the consistent way that I know bring the greatest rewards.

Perhaps the most surprising thing that meditation has taught me is now cluttered my mind feels most of the time.  When I begin a meditation, my mind drifts all over the place.

No wonder I’m not settled into the new project.

Today I’m going to try an experiment.  I’m going to meditate and then sit down to write.

I’ll try this sequence for a few days to see what happens.

Yesterday I met a wonderful woman for lunch. (I’m not going to mention her name because I did not  secure her permission before writing this post.)

This woman bought my book for Touchstone/Fireside.  When she met me for the first time she said something I’ll never forget:  “From one black girl next door to another, welcome.”

After the first meeting, I told my agent that I hoped two things.  First, that she would buy the book and become my editor.  Second, that she’d stay in her position long enough to bring the book to publication.

Alas, I only got one of my two wishes.  She bough the book, but got a great big job offer and left.

We kept in have kept in touch and meet in New York as time permits.

Yesterday, I brought her an advanced copy of the book and we talked about life and my new projects as we ate Italian food.  The conversation was absolutely amazing, and I feel a new surge of energy around the new project.

Riding the train home, I realized how much of a difference good editors make in a writer’s life.  I have been blessed with several of them, including the woman who took over the project when my original editor left.

So, the new project feels thoroughly launched, and I can’t wait to begin blogging about it.

I am thrilled to report that The Black Girl Next Door has been reviewed for the first time!  Check out Publisher’s Weekly of September 15th.

Here’s just a bit of the review:

“In elegant prose, Baszile shares enlightening observations throughout: “Dad never complained about being a black man… but he couldn’t disguise its particular perils.” Proud and comfortable in her skin, as well as clearheaded about its hazards, Baszile has written a classic portrait of that girl next door.”

To read the full review, follow this link:  http://www.publishersweekly.com/article/CA6595584.html?industryid=47142

I would have posted even if the review had been unfavorable, and I recognize the perils of living on external praise.  Still, the review itself means that the book is circulating in the world, and that’s what I always wanted.

I confess that I’m feeling a bit stuck in my writing.

I have another memoir project in mind.  But I worry that I lack the distance or the detachment from the experiences to write about them at just this moment.

I have a fiction project that I find fascinating.  Then I read a book with very similar themes and a similar setting to the one I imagined.

What’s a writer to do?

Today, I ‘ve decided to approach the work on a slant and put in an hour on each one.  Then I’ll call the day a success and do it again.

What’s the difference between honesty and truth?

Conflicts in some of my closest relationships have made me consider the question.

I first learned the value of honesty as a child. In a horrible episode I describe in The Black Girl Next Door, I lied to convince some kids to like me, and it turned into a complete disaster.  When my father found out what I’d done, I saw the hurt and shame on his face for the first time.  My stunt showed me the disfiguring power of deception.

For the remainder of my girlhood, and into my adult life, I tried to be honest.  I mostly succeeded.

For all my success, I thought little of how I defined honesty.  Looking back, I regarded honesty as a personal standard, a state of being and an internal process.

But my practice of honesty was flawed because I misunderstood the difference between being honest and telling the truth.

I have long marveled at people who walk through the world loudly proclaiming their truths.  I have watched with wonder people whose worldviews sound absolute, whose definitions of themselves and others seem so crystal clear.

In my pursuit of internal honesty, I used to wither when I encountered other people who proclaimed their truths.  The topic didn’t much matter, I sometimes engaged, but rarely challenged, those people.

I swallowed my disagreement when a relative piped up with an offensive political idea. Instead I expressed my dissent in my head.  Maybe later I rebutted their views with a close friend, but the vocal person was never around to hear me.  For years, I didn’t serve wine at my own dinner table during holiday dinners so as not to offend my in-laws’ religious views.  I told myself that I could skip the wine for the evening. “Honestly,” I told myself on such occasions, “it’s no problem.” I thought that I was paying respect through silence.

I was lying to myself.

Silence and accommodation became bad habits that allowed me to avoid my own feelings of intimidation and my overarching need to please.

I sold honesty short far too many times. Every time I did, I taught people that their opinions mattered more to me than my own.  People became accustomed to my silence.

So it was no surprise that they stepped into a seeming void and began to define the truth about me.  I let them do it.  Sure, I challenged them in my heart and in my head, but I rarely spoke up.

Then honesty grew weary of being cheated.  The universe showed me my mistake. That’s when I felt the depth of my unhappiness.  I realized that I couldn’t claim my own health and happiness without speaking the truth.

As I began to examine and redefine the terms on which I lived my life, my years of silence bit me on the backside. I had to break my habit of silence and speak up.  It was as terrifying as it was liberating.  Each time I did it, I felt relieved and just a bit freer.

My new voice surprised some folks who had grown reliant on my silence and whom I had misled into believing that they defined the truth for me.   Not everyone like it and sometimes got downright nasty.

At first, I tired to match the volume other people used to speak their truths.  But it wasn’t me.  I have a loud voice, but I’m not a yeller.  Eventually, I stopped trying to compete with them on volume.  I stopped talking for awhile.  That’s when I really settled into my voice as a writer.

My years of silent honesty weren’t wasted though.  They informed my truth telling in great ways.  I have tried to remain focused on my own life and have resisted the temptation to tell other people about themselves.

I feel better today because I walk through the world having embraced the truth of who I am. I no longer mistake volume for clarity.   I now know the strength and freedom that emerge from being both honest and truthful.

My editor emailed me to say that the advanced reader’s edition of The Black Girl Next Door are headed out to book buyers.

Each time I get this kind of news, I smile and get scared all at the same time.

Does it get easier or more difficult as a writer approaches the release of her book?

Why can’t I take a vacation without taking work with me?

This is a question I’ve contemplated seriously since I returned from my most recent week away.

When I taught at Yale, I felt an crushing sense of obligation to my work but never much excitement. I packed my laptop, journal articles, and the most recent draft of my manuscript to satisfy the throbbing “should” that ruled my life. Those things weighed down my suitcase in the same way that my relationship to my job weighed down my life.

But I’m a writer now. My work invigorates me even on days when it is hard. My manuscript is finished–The Black Girl Next Door is in production and will be released in January.

Shouldn’t I know and do differently now?

True, I carried much less stuff on this trip—a laptop, a few pages of the new project, some business materials I wanted to read. I barely opened my workbag. When my inner voice told me to release and enjoy the time away, I didn’t argue. I honored that voice and shutdown my computer.

I’m finding that claiming the freedom I’ve struggled so long to achieve, like everything else, is a process.

I can see now the work I bring on vacation is a bad old habit. It is the material expression of fear. It is “should” that weighs me down. Sure I have stuff to do, but I also took the vacation to reinvigorate myself.

Next vacation, my goal is to pack even more mindfully—and try and keep the “should” out of my luggage.

Are you an ambivalent vacationer like me? If you’ve changed your ways, I’d love to hear how you did it.

When people ask me what I do, I tell them I am a writer.

Many times, people confess their own writing dreams. So often, folks(lots of women) tell me that they’ve got a great idea for a novel, or a project they’ve toyed with for a long time. In the next breath, often before I say a word, they sigh and explain why they are deferring their dream. Money, kids, and jobs are the top reasons they offer.

Here’s what I’ve learned: Anyone waiting on the perfect time to become a writer should ask themselves the question, “What’s my idea of perfect?”

I’m going to tell you the truth.  My “perfect” time to write my book happened as I faced overlapping CRISES.

My dad had just been diagnosed with a rare and aggressive form of cancer.

I told my husband I wanted a divorce after more than a decade of marriage and years of marriage counseling. Then, I initiated divorce proceedings before I even completed the manuscript.

I had left my teaching job at Yale and no longer had a paycheck.

Why was that the “perfect” time to write?

It was the “perfect time” because I had finally quit being the good girl who was trying to please everyone but myself.

It was the “perfect time” because I grown so sick of my “good enough” life that I was willing to risk everything but my health and the safety of my child to live the best version of my life.

It was the “perfect time” because I had stopped asking everyone but the cashier at Target whether or not she thought I could actually write and decided to actually hone my craft.

It was the “perfect time” because I learned how to type and cry at the same time—whether I was crying about what had happened that day or twenty years ago.

It was the “perfect time” because I made it that way—one late night, one early morning at a time.