The Importance of Awards and The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel

By
Scott D. Parker

If it weren’t for the Emmy Awards, I would never have watched “The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.”

I’ll admit: I barely watched the actual awards show. I stayed long enough to see Henry Winkler earn his first (!) primetime Emmy award (and his wonderful speech*) I also saw two actors from GODLESS win: Merritt Wever and Jeff Daniels. Loved that he thanked his horse.

The next day, I read through the rest of the winners. What struck me was this show on Amazon that won not only Outstanding Comedy Series and Outstanding Lead Actress in a Comedy Series. In fact, I think it won the most awards of the evening, taking home five trophies.

But what was this show about? My wife and I were intrigued, so we pulled up Amazon and gave it a look.

NOTE: The show is eight episode long. As of this writing, I have not seen the last episode, so I’ll be basing all my thoughts on the first 7 episodes. But that is enough.

Rachel Brosnahan stars as the titular character, Miriam “Midge” Maisel, a Jewish housewife who inadvertently discovers she has a talent for stand-up comedy. The show is set in 1950s New York, and Midge lives with her husband, Joel, and their two kids in an apartment a few floors below her parents’ apartment. Tony Shalhoub plays her father, Abraham, and in a bit of “Whoa, maybe I really am getting old”, her mother is played by Marin Hinkle. You might not know the name, but she starred as Jon Cryer’s ex-wife in “Two and a Half Men.” She’s a mere two years older than me...and she’s a grandmother!

As the show opens, it’s Joel who tries his hand at stand-up. He’s not good, but Midge dutifully takes notes during his performances, compiling a notebook full of ideas and lessons learned. After a particularly bad night in which he bombed, Joel informs Midge he’s leaving her for...his secretary. She gets drunk, wanders the streets, and ends up in The Gaslight Club, the very venue Joel just stank up. She gets up on stage, overcoat covering her nightgown, and proceeds to let it all out. Susie Myerson, playing a worker in the Gaslight, sees what Midge is capable of and convinces her to give stand-up comedy a serious go.

In what could have easily been a rote-type comedy, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel vibrates with a joy not seen on the small screen in a long time. It’s a very New York show, complete with lots of Jewishness and talk about the town and society in the 1950s. This historian part of me loved it all. The clothes, the formal dinners, the evident ‘caste-like’ system is portrayed very well.

But what really sends this show over the top is the whip-smart dialogue. This TV show could easily have been adapted to a stage play, but the better comparison is the comedies of the 1930s movies. Think of the Thin Man movies or any of those films where the characters deliver their lines in a rat-a-tat fashion, always with the perfect comeback and precisely the best time. You will, um, marvel at how well these actors do their thing.

Brosnahan is a dream as Midge. Not only does she deliver the normal dialogue well, but when she gets behind the microphone to deliver her stand-up routines, she comes across as a natural. It makes me wonder if she’s ever had any desire or experience being a true stand-up comic. If not, she should definately try.

Tony Shalhoub is hilarious. I laughed out loud multiple times. And the chemistry he has with Hinkle is so palpable that you might wonder if they are not secretly married. Joel’s father is played in a wonderfully over-the-top fashion by Kevin Pollak. I know him best as the third person on Tom Cruise’s legal team in A FEW GOOD MEN, after Demi Moore. He all but steals every scene he’s in.

Every actor in this show is at the top of their game. I rarely binge, but there were a couple of nights when we’d finish one episode and, after a quick check of my watch, rolled right into the next one.

Awards are sometimes derided as things given within a group of people to bolster all those egos. I’ve never thought that. Awards, no matter the group, are intended to showcase good, quality things--in this case, TV shows--and let the world know some examples of good stuff.

I so enjoyed this show...and I never would have likely given it the chance were it not for all those Emmy wins. Well deserved, and highly recommended.


*Henry Winkler, upon winning his first primetime Emmy said, among other things, this fantastic line: “If you stay at the table long enough, the chips comes to you. Tonight, I got to clear the table.”

Let’s hear it for perseverance. And for continuing to show up.

Watching Our Words

By Sandra Ruttan

Believe it or not, there was a point in my life when I didn't swear much. One of the hardest adjustments was understanding for myself that if certain words came from a character's mouth in a story I wrote, they still weren't my words.

I got over the swearing. 

It's been much harder dealing with other language.

Remarks made against women or racist comments are the hardest thing to put in a character's mouth. You'd think I might be used to it because The Spying Moon has a lot of it, but making Moreau be female and half Native were deliberate choices to multiply the number of ways she's alienated in the story. 

I still find myself worrying. Worrying someone will take a character's remark personally or think their sentiments are my own. When I wrote it initially that wasn't something I thought about as much, but so much has changed in the last two years that it's clear we aren't moving past racism as a society. Discrimination, on multiple levels, seems to be more rampant than ever. And in some circles it's even acceptable, if not encouraged.

Having a character tell a woman to get in the kitchen or make an assumption about someone based on their race while the POV character and others recognize that as wrong is different from writing something based on your experiences, with a POV character who shares your name and expresses racist sentiments. 

In the wake of the ALA decision to rename an award there's been good reason to think about our racial language in what we write. I think that first, the ALA can call their award whatever they want. Second, no books are being banned. They changed an award's name to make it more inclusive and in line with their mission as an organization.

The fall-out was far and wide, with uproars on Twitter and Facebook, and in organizations like Sisters in Crime. 

Backlash over the name change shows that people can be reactive. Some may be racist and others may just be insensitive.

It has heightened my awareness. My friend count recently went down on Facebook when I asked people who support putting babies in cages to unfriend me. I consider that the best kind of housecleaning possible. I don't need to engage with blatant racists to know how they think.

But what it shows is that this type of thinking is far more prevalent than some of us realized. And that, for me, is the definition of white privilege. I don't always think about how people are treated based on race because I am white.

In order to address prejudices we have to acknowledge they exist and that will come into what we write sometimes. I trust readers to see that treating a person differently based on gender or skin color or sexual orientation or anything else is wrong. 

But I will still think carefully about racial language in every work I produce. We send messages with our words. The subtext of any work worth reading shouldn't be that it was just an excuse to make crude or derogatory remarks.

The ALA's decision, particularly given the current climate, has heightened our awareness of how far there is to go to really change attitudes and embrace equality. I'm thinking about the nuances of language more than ever and, while I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing, the reason for it is. Hopefully the future will see a more inclusive writing community, as well as a more inclusive world.

Fra-gee-lay: Major Awards, Honesty, and the Validation Trap

Awards aren't fragile, but writer egos can be

Last time I was here, I wrote about how not winning or getting nominated for awards shouldn't change your writing.
Today I'm here to tell you that getting nominated or winning awards shouldn't change your writing.

"The things we have to watch out for are that kind of approval seeking that sneaks up on you. Every writer should be wary of the ways they seek approval from an audience." -Alexander Chee, interview with Fold Magazine

Alexander Chee is the author of two critically acclaimed novels and the new collection of essays, How to Write an Autobiographical Novel. His essays are stunning pieces of work, and if he hasn't won major awards for them, he will. But his advice above, specifically aimed at the validation we get from social media, also applies to awards and nominations, whether they are voted on by fans (like the Anthony or Hugos) or curated by peers, such as the Edgars or Shirley Jackson Awards.

This isn't to say they don't mean anything. It is wonderful to get recognized, but as Mr Chee says above, we should strive to improve our craft without writing for awards or audience validation. That is not how great stories get told. They get told when you dare, when you make it personal and stick a pen in your heart so the feelings flood on the page, like Mick Jagger says. Hey. it's only crime fiction, but I like it.



And that rarely coincides with trying to make people happy. If you live for the validation of others, you are going to be disappointed eventually. If you want to read the most honest self-appraisal in some time, check out thriller writer Owen Laukanen's post about self-honesty at his Project Nomad blog, where he talks about the emotional rollercoaster of a writing career. This is a guy I've been cheerleading for some time, I saw his books in airports, I thought he "had it made." He gives us the cold wet slap of reality with this post, and every writer ought to give it a read. There is no gravy train with biscuit wheels.

So, it's time for me to be honest.

I've been a critical jerk to writers I consider successful who have struggled, like Owen has. Because I ass-umed they were on the gravy train, and there's nothing worse than seeing someone grumbling about having it better than you.

But they don't have it better. They have it different. So I'd like to apologize to authors who have been honest about the tribulations of their writing careers, like Owen and John Hornor Jacobs, who I have called out. I liked to say I was looking out for them--that they were being hurtful to their audience and less-successful peers--but I'll be honest, I was angry that they found greater success than I have, and yet didn't seem "satisfied." That was my mistaken impression. They were being honest about their fears, struggles, and troubles in the writing business, and I was shaming them for it.

Shame on me.

We can't all approach the level of introspection--especially publicly--that Owen is brave enough to share with us, but introspection is an important part of not being an asshole, and we all have blind spots. I'm good at locating sources of my own fears and misogyny and attempting to root them out, as I have written about in the past, but I am not good about confronting how competitive I can be. I've always considered myself noncompetitive, easy-going, and my first taste of nasty ego-protecting competitive lashing out was when I started fight training. My high school friend Peter has fought amateur in Japan, and is now a personal trainer. He's a better fighter than me. Better technically, and more experienced. But I'm stronger, and outweigh him by several weight classes. And there's a reason there are weight classes. I have a distinct advantage, especially in grappling, and when we roll... people stand back and watch, because we tear shit up. He gets me with a rear naked choke or a triangle, but I always have to rely on my "cheat" of sweeping him to half guard, stretching out his rangy limbs and forearm choking him with my full weight on his jugular. It's legal, but I can't beat him otherwise. Oh, I can, and have, performed a abdominal crunch and gone to full standing when he's tried to pin his 185lbs on my chest, and smashed him into the cage, dragged his head down the chain links, just to show him I can do. I still lost, he choked me out. But I had to show him I was stronger.



Same with his triangle- his signature move- unless he gets it perfectly, I mash his knee to his nose. You know all that did? It perfected his triangle. I didn't improve, he did. I kept using the same old moves, and sometimes they worked. But he kept getting better, and when he won, I shrugged it off instead of forcing myself to struggle to improve moves that would work better. It was easier to use my advantages and make excuses when he defeated me.

It terrifies me that I would do that with my writing. I have taken challenges, self-imposed. I don't depend on brutality like I did when I started. I was known for "gut punches" and emotionally wrenching stories, and it was a crutch. I've gone after more nuanced subjects somewhat, with "The Big Snip" and "Truth Comes Out of Her Well to Shame Mankind," and even "Deadbeat," which explore the rage instead of simply depicting it for the visceral catharsis it provides. I wrote a novel, in edits, that I jokingly call a cozy, which really does satisfy the off-screen violence and sex requirements, because I didn't want to rely on my strengths, which are action scenes and the expression of the rage of the wronged. This story is about a heel who comes off as a hero, and how he wrestles with it. It's about the friends who want to make him better, who won't give up on him. In a noir story he would give up on himself and embrace the easy failure, because he's good at fucking up. This isn't a noir story. Which is scary for me, changing gears. Trying a new move I may not be good at (this is not to say I've "mastered" noir at all-- it's just how I know to please an audience; give them a violent, righteous protagonist).

I've digressed some here and gotten personal. I'm thrilled that Bad Boy Boogie nabbed an Anthony nomination for best paperback original. Congratulations to all the nominees. The next Jay Desmarteaux novel is a lot different, and the nomination won't make me go back and change that. I'm striving to improve. I may fail, readers may hate the next book. But I'll "fail better" as Mr Beckett says. I won't give up. And I won't disrespect my readers. I'm grateful for the nomination, but I know it's not a validation of everything I did in the book. It could've been better, and I'll do my best to make the next one better. Maybe it won't be better than She Rides Shotgun or Bluebird, Bluebird-- two damn good books that I wish I'd written, they are that good-- but I'll keep striving. And when I struggle, like those honest writers John and Owen, I will be honest about it.

Award Season Depressive Disorder

NOTE: This is not to make light of actual mental disorders. I'm not even going to make too much light of this made-up one.

The curse of social media is that when you are scouring your timeline for therapeutic videos of a baby tiger beset upon by friendly otters, you will also be exposed to a gauntlet of distressing news items, from signs of impending dystopia to that violent shredder of self-esteem, awards season.
We're going to talk about writers other than you getting accolades! Quick, watch the tiger and otters video to brace yourself:

"Tiger cub doesn't know how it feels about its new otter friends" pic.twitter.com/1XMHjJsghD

— Fluff Society (@FluffSociety) April 30, 2018

There will be some gentle mockery here, because it is coupled with self-deprecation. Two of my favorite writer people were asking if anyone was driven to succeed by spite. And well, you do what works for you, but as someone with a very unhealthy mental outlook when it comes to validation, even I think can't be good. But if it keeps you writing, I guess it's good.

I love awards season because you get to see books you loved get their just deserts. But know, as surely as there are people in the seats at a racetrack who are there for the crashes, that there are people who like to root against as much as they like to root for. (That's a clumsy sentence, but I have a hangover and the beginning of a cold, so go back and parse it.) Maybe you're one of those people. Maybe we all are? I like to think there are a few out there who don't have a secret nemesis they root against. Let's pretend there are.

Even if you don't root against a book that everyone loved but you found incomprehensible, you may feel like you're falling behind during awards season, when your book languishes in obscurity and some book you never heard of wins the triple crown. That's pretty self-explanatory, isn't it? If you haven't read the books that the genre cognoscenti think are important, how can you expect everyone to have read your book? You can blame it on nepotism or some other bitter invention, but when it comes down to it, there are thousands of books out there, and even with a publicity team and word of mouth, not all of them can win or even be nominated. And then of course, maybe your book just isn't the best out there. There's no shame in that. Read books by writers who are better than you, and learn.

That may not work, either. You can watch LeBron James all day and still never win a game of HORSE.

Wait, don't do anything rash! Here's a baby giraffe!!!

Hi 😋 👅
📹: kansascityzoo pic.twitter.com/zdcUzX3QRT

— Cute Emergency (@CuteEmergency) April 29, 2018

This is why I loathe the "I hate writing and writing is painful" trope. Then why the hell are you doing it? You can like having written as the joke guys, but if this makes you miserable, maybe, like the guy who was hitting himself in the face with a hammer, if will feel better when you stop. Joe Lansdale gives some tough-love advice when he says, (paraphrasing) "if you can quit, quit." If you need spite to keep you going, cut that nose off, baby! But there has to be some joy in this beyond the fawning praise of friends and strangers, or what are you even doing?

There's no guarantee of success, even if you persevere. Because we tend to keep moving the goalposts of success. Remember when you wanted to have a short story published, and that was enough? I'm sure there are plenty of you still striving for that laudable goal, and well, keep at it. Read the mags you want to get into, that helps. (If you hate what they publish, why do you want to get published by them? Ask yourself.) Maybe you passed that, and want more. Probably what someone else has gotten, and you're judging your success against theirs, as if it's the only way to "succeed." What's success anyway? Do you want money, or fame, or both? The respect of your peers? Do you want the life of a writer as depicted on a TV show or in a movie you saw at a tender age?

(Personally, Throw Momma From the Train is my goal movie. And I'm the DeVito character).


Dreams don't need to be realistic, but don't let someone else's successes distract you from your own goals. As it has been said again and again, this is not a zero sum game. One writer's success does not take away from yours. Even if they won the award you were nominated for. (Or weren't nominated for.)  As I've said before, I'm very happy that there are now other people enjoying the stories I come up with. I'd be thinking them up anyway. That's my outlook, and it helps fend off the envy when great things happen to other people. But I'm not saying don't be spiteful, if that's what works for you!

Roxane Gay says she has a nemesis. She has multiple best sellers, half a million Twitter followers, awards up the wazoo, all in the few short years since I met her at the Sackett Street Writers reading in a beer garden basement. She's a rising star and a great short story writer, and she has a nemesis. So who says you can't have one, if it helps? I mean, don't go all Salieri on them, but if they drive you to work harder and get better, by all means, spite away, pal!

There are writers who win awards and never sell a lot of books. There are writers who sell plenty and never win many awards. There are some who do both or neither, and they have their fans, they keep writing. There are some who write one book because the awards and fame and money either satisfied them or soured them or daunted them into seclusion. The awards don't make you a writer. Writing does. And coincidentally, that is also the best treatment for Award Season Depressive Disorder.

To quote Marty's agent from Throw Momma from the Train:

Writers write!

Who's My Audience?

by Holly West

Recently, I became involved in a conversation about book awards on Twitter in response to this article written by the fabulous E.A. Aymar for ITW's THE THRILL BEGINS. The gist of this exchange was that there is a significant difference between juried awards like the Edgars and peer-decided awards like the Anthonys, which are, in the minds of some, just popularity contests. And that we, as authors should be clear and honest about the differences.

Note: The Edgars are also judged by our peers, but the process is much more rigorous, involving committees and consensus among the members of said committees. Having never been part of that process, I can't comment further, except to say that I respect it. Ed's article gives information on how the ITW awards are determined, which I assume is similar to the way the Edgars are.

Starting early in the year, you might see your author friends campaigning for various awards. You might've even seen me campaigning. Or as I prefer to call it--reminding. Nothing wrong with reminding people who've read my work of its eligibility in a given year and I appreciate it when other authors remind me of their eligibility. If I've read and enjoyed their work, I'm happy to nominate them, but I don't always keep track of what was published when so a little nudge is helpful.

Such campaigning, however, made one of the conversation's participant ask who the writers were trying to connect with--readers or their writing peers.

For the record, I've been nominated twice--once for the Left Coast Crime award for Best First Novel (MISTRESS OF FORTUNE) and once for the Anthony for Best Short Story. Those nominations meant the world to me, they really did. You can call it a popularity contest if you want, but being recognized by my peers felt really great. And after the LCC nomination, I saw a small but definite uptick in sales. Given my low sales numbers in general, that was significant to me.

And to be clear, these awards aren't just nominated and voted on by other authors. Fans (those who've attended or are registered to attend a given conference) are also eligible to nominate and vote.

But as the title of this post suggests, this little twitter conversation resulted in a different quandary for me: who, exactly, is my audience? The truth is that at this point in my career, my writer friends are my main audience. I don't mean that I'm writing solely for them or that they've been supportive (though they have been), I literally mean that they represent the majority of those who've purchased my books. For a variety of reasons, the books I've written so far have not yet managed to find an audience much broader than those who know me, and a great many of those people are authors themselves.

The point I'm trying to make is this: Maybe some day my books will reach a larger audience, but that doesn't mean I'm not proud of the one I already have. And if that means I'm sometimes honored with award nominations, damn it, I'm even prouder. Yes, I understand that there are inherent problems with the way these awards are given out, but that's not a judgment on the quality of the material itself. And quite often, you'll see the same titles on multiple shortlists, including the Edgars.

Maybe the moral of the story is not to place too much importance on awards in general, although, I ain't gonna lie, I want an Edgar someday. One thing's for sure, I'm not going to get one by writing blog posts (or engaging in Twitter conversations) complaining about or dissecting award processes. Neither will you. So get out there and write, my friends. Hustle, too.

Makin' It

Who remembers this show?

 

This was the first thing that came to mind when I asked myself the question, what does it mean to have "made it?" Those old 70s TV shows may have been bad, but they do stick with you.

But as usual, I've strayed from the point, so let me get back to it. You may know that my fellow Do Some Damage blogger, Joelle Charbonneau, recently had her latest installment of the Testing Trilogy, Independent Study, debut at #8 on the NY Times Best Seller list.

<Big Round of Applause>

It got me thinking about what it means to have “made it,” at least in terms of one’s writing career. Obviously, this is going to be different for everyone. Joelle herself tackled the subject in a recent DSD post about success:

I still measure my own personal success in the same way that I always have.  By getting up in the morning, putting my hands on the keyboard and filling the pages with words.  Each day that I write is a success.  Each day I add pages or edit a story is a success.  Each time a reader picks up one of my books and finds something engaging about my work is a success.

I decided to ask a few of my writer friends the same question: "According to your own personal definition, what does it mean to have 'made it' as an author?"

Steve Weddle (author of Country Hardball and editor of Needle Magazine):
I don't know that this means anything. I've heard people talk about it, but most people will say they haven't "made it," whether they've sold zero books or a billion. I think you have "made it" when you're working on something you're really enjoying. When I'm in the middle of telling a story that's resonating, I feel as if I have "made it."

Susanna Calkins (author of A Murder at Rosamund's Gate and From the Charred Remains):
Honestly, I think there's such a shifting definition of "having made it" for me, and I suspect that is the same for most authors. When I compare my writing career to where I was a few years ago, I certainly feel relatively successful. Initially I was just proud to have completed an entire novel; I didn't know if it would ever see the light of day. Now, I have an agent, a publisher, a wonderful editor and a book contract (which has since been extended to four books in my historical mystery series). Seeing my book in the bookstore or in the library makes me feel like "I've made it." It's clear I've crossed some sort of arbitrary threshold from aspiring writer to published author. I feel honored and thrilled by all this. I do not write full-time (because I have a full-time job already), and I'm not certain I could support myself if I did. Honestly, I don't focus on lists and awards, and certainly I don't use them as a measure of my sense of success. There's a lot to this industry that I still don't really understand--in particular, the criteria for awards and lists are not transparent--and it just doesn't seem productive or healthy to connect my sense of accomplishment or self-worth as a writer to these types of measures. Do I want to be a best-seller? Sure. Would it be cool to win an award? Naturally. Can I feel accomplished without such accolades? Absolutely.

Thomas Pluck (author of Blade of Dishonor):
This early in my career, I have met a few milestones- such as completing a novel and having a literary hero give it a glowing review- but the way I drive myself is to keep raising the bar. So I don't think that I've "made it." When I've written all the novels swirling in my head, that will be another milestone, and if they are published to acclaim, that's another. My goal is to make a comfortable, if not opulent living off my writing and have a following of likeminded readers who enjoy the stories I tell.

Making the NY Times bestseller list is a great accomplishment, and having read The Testing, I think Joelle more than deserves it. She has great talent and skill, and puts in the hard work, day after day. I raise my glass to her breaking the top 10, and here's to her next book hitting number one. But I guarantee if you ask her, that despite the elation, she'll be working just as hard tomorrow.

If you think you "made it," will you work just as hard? I'm not so sure if I would. So I recommend moving that goalpost another few yards each time you think you've "made it."

Josh Stallings (author of All the Wild Children and the Moses McGuire series):

I view "making it" as a never ending spiral staircase of steps. As a younger man I sold a few screen plays and was hired to script doctor couple others, at that point I knew I was a professional screenwriter. But I would have told you I hadn't made it. The movies that did get made weren't things I was greatly proud of. As a novelist I feel I have made it to a certain degree now that my books sales pay for my writing expenses. I will feel I have made another huge step when the writing can support me. As for the craft itself, I don't think I will ever have made it. I always feel I can do better and push myself to do that. One of the things I love about the craft of writing is you can spend a life learning and improving.

Jeri Westerson (author of the medieval noir series featuring Crispin Guest, most recently, Shadow of the Alchemist):
[When asked whether she'd "made it"] I'd have to say a big "no" on that. Most of my readers might disagree but then they don't understand the vagaries of publishing. I think that to them, the book in their hands is a done deal. So on one level, I've "made it" in the sense of getting noticed by a big publisher and having six books published by them. But from where I'm sitting I don't really feel I've made it until every book I write sells through and then some; that I'm offered contracts without a blink from a publisher; and the big one, that I can make a living at it.

Matt Coyle (author of Yesterday's Echo):
I've reached the first step in the process of making it as an author and about the third step in the process of making it as a writer. What does it mean to have "made it?" To be able to quit the day job and make a real living as an author.

Holly West (author of Mistress of Fortune--hey! that's me!):
The simple answer is the same as Matt's answer above--to be able to make a real living as an author. I'd also second what Jeri said--to not worry where my next contract is coming from. But it seems like so very few authors fall into that category these days, does it?

Ultimately, I measure my success in terms of meeting my own personally goals, which means writing consistently, every day, and challenging myself to write more truthfully. I pull punches a lot with my writing, which is a habit I need to dispense with. I want to write things that resonate with people in addition to entertaining them. I want to inspire people the way books inspire me.

Thanks, everyone, for the interesting discussion. But let's not end it here--what does "making it" mean to you?

The art of getting noticed

by: Joelle Charbonneau

Okay, it is awards season time. Or in many cases, it is award nomination season. People who subscribe to magazines, go to conferences and belong to any number of other groups are being asked to nominate their favorite books of 2010. Lots of genres be it crime fiction, romance, women's fiction, young adult etc... Lot of chances for authors to be recognized for their work.

In theory, I love the idea of awards. In theory, people read lots of books and then nominate their absolute favorite ones for said awards. Would I like to be nominated for an award? Would other members of this blog? Sure. Lots of authors I know if a variety of genres would love to make the short lists. Who the heck wouldn’t? But I am having a serious problem with the not so subtle, but trying to look subtle, campaigning going on for spots on nominating ballots. I am seeing tweet after tweet and blog post after blog post and one face book message after another which all amounts to shaking hands and kissing babies in order to get someone’s vote. People are setting their hair on fire trying to get noticed and I’m getting ready to douse them with a very large bucket of water.

Is this really what it takes to get nominated?

God, I hope not. But a very sad part of me that was terrible at going around asking my classmates for signatures when running for the seventh grade student council is pretty sure that these tactics work. Authors doing very public “You like me? You really, really like me enough to nominate me?” messages to their friends on social media forums in hopes that other people will see the message and decide to add their book to the list of nominees will probably see their efforts pay off. The authors that are not so good at those tactics will fall by the wayside. The funny thing is the authors that are being up front and honest about it don’t bother me at all. If you tweet saying that your short story in X publication can be considered for nomination, chances are I will check out your story and think about nominating you. But if you are going to try to be subtle and tell me you can’t believe that lots of people are nominating your book for X award, I’m going to chuck a shoe at my computer screen.

Maybe this all bothers me so much because a small, naïve part of me that wants these awards to really mean something more than being a personal popularity and political strategy contest. Last year I wrote a post asking if awards matter. Most people said they only mattered to publishers, which might be true. Maybe we as authors are so desperate to capture our publisher’s wandering attention that we feel the need to set our hair on fire and jump up and down asking people to love us. Maybe that is why self-publishing is so appealing to so many.

God only knows. All I know is that I’m going to grit my teeth for the next couple weeks and wait for the campaigning to pass. Of course, I might be the only one bothered by it. Maybe I’m just out of sorts this week. What do you think? Are the authors you tweet or facebook with asking for your vote? How do you feel about all of this?

Flavor of the month

by: Joelle Charbonneau

I’m not a reader who loves jumping on the bandwagon of whatever hot new book is on the list. It took me until book four to break down and start reading Harry Potter. I admit I was glad I did, but most of the time I don’t feel that same happiness at devoting my time to what everyone else is reading.

Case in point: I picked up a book a few months ago that has racked up lots of award nominations. Everyone was talking about how fabulous it was so when I saw it on the discount shelf I decided to add it to my TBR pile. You have to remember that my TBR pile is enormous and keeps growing, so it took me a while to finally get around to reading the book. I cracked it open and after ten pages wanted to put it down.

But I didn’t.

People had nominated it for awards – lots of awards. I kept reading waiting to discover the reason(s) why. The point of view shifted almost every other paragraph which made it hard to follow whose thoughts I was reading. The killer seemed obvious. The descriptions were lovely, but no more so than other books I’d read. I assumed that the payoff at the end – the solution to the mystery – was going to be sensational. That I was going to be amazed at how the pieces fit together to form a picture I never saw coming. I flipped the pages waiting for a huge payoff.

It never came.

I was disappointed. In fact, I felt cheated. I shouldn’t have. There’s a reason I don’t normally read the ‘flavor of the month’. This would be it.

As a soon-to-be-published author, I seem to find myself paying attention to award nominations in ways I'd never done in the past. The question is, does anyone else really care about these awards? Do you find yourself reading a book because everyone else is doing it? Or do you like to be the one setting the trends? And if you don’t like to follow the crowd, at what point do you break down and decide to see what all the fuss is about?