I’ve been trying to write a new column for three weeks. I’m pretty sure you can guess what’s been holding things up, distracting me, sending my attention off in approximately 97 directions at once, each more upsetting than the last. I’m not going to harp on the looming state of affairs in this country, but I am going to acknowledge that people are scared, worried, angry, concerned, furious, fired up. And distracted.
One bit of advice I keep seeing is to find our lanes. To acknowledge that no one person can do everything, or try to help fix everything at once. And in that spirit, I’ve been thinking about something in my lane that always needs doing, but especially now: supporting the art you love. And specifically, supporting books and their authors.
Book bans aren’t going away. Companies’ obsession with what they like to call “AI” isn’t going away. Authors aren’t swimming in new and exciting (and affordable) ways to promote their work. Tired arguments about the role of politics in art, alas, aren’t going away either. I worry about library funding, I worry about school boards, I worry about corporations complying in advance, I worry about how anyone is supposed to focus on their art when all of this is happening.
Each of us is just one reader. I’m not about to ask you to buy every book by every author you’ve ever loved; who has that kind of money? But I am going to make a few suggestions on what a reader might do to help keep art, and community—which is so necessary—alive.
Subscribe. Find your favorite authors’ newsletters and sign up. Maybe they have the kind of newsletter that they send out once or twice a year with news; maybe they have a rich Substack or Patreon full of writing advice, recommendations, interviews. Whatever it is, sign up, and if there’s a paid tier and you can afford it, pay for it. It’s a direct way to support them and it’s a direct line into what they’re doing. At the very least, you’re likely to hear about new books and events first.
And what’s more, you may learn about what is affecting them. Authors write about attempts being made to ban their books; they write about books they love by their peers and friends; they write about the reality of being an artist in these times. Not all the newsletters I subscribe to are SFF, but: I love Alexander Chee’s newsletter, which is kind of all of the above and more; I love Jami Attenberg’s wonderful pep talks (and her adorable dog); I love Catherynne M. Valente’s beautiful rants and recipes. I love that John Scalzi has been inviting other authors onto his blog forever (and you can subscribe to his blog, too). I would love to know which author newsletters you love.
Attend. Are there author events in your town? If it’s safe and comfortable for you to do so, go to them. (It would really be nice if more event hosts so much as encouraged attendees to mask, but they probably won’t. That doesn’t mean you can’t still do it.) I used to run author events; I have been to a lot of them. And yet I have almost never regretted going to another one. They are a community space, and a space of connection; they are often at independent bookstores, who don’t even usually make that much money from events and can also really use your support. They are a way to be surprised and delighted, usually for free.
I’ve bought books because authors recommended them during their talks. I’ve been moved to both tears and fits of giggles by the stories writers tell when they’re sitting in an uncomfortable folding chair like the rest of us. When I went to see the men known as James S.A. Corey last summer, Daniel Abraham said one of the single most useful things I have ever in my life heard about writer’s block (that it’s usually actually editor’s block; that it’s the editor part of your brain getting in the way). You never know what you’ll realize you really wanted to hear.
Yell. If you are very online at all, you have probably seen authors reluctantly asking their readers to review their books on the major online review sites, saying that there is a magic number of reviews after which Amazon treats books better. Whether or not you use that particular website (or Goodreads), it is always, always worth yelling about a book you loved on the internet. Write reviews, if you like to do that. Write blog posts. Write social media posts. Take artful photos for the ‘gram. Whatever it is that you find fun, do it. Make cross-stitches of your favorite quotes and post them. Make up themed cocktails and share the recipes. There is no wrong way to draw attention to things that you think deserve attention. You may even make some similarly enthusiastic new friends in the process.
Pre-order books. I’m really sorry that this is a thing. I am. I think it’s screwy and terrible how much weight pre-orders have come to have in publishing. I wish there were more support for books that grow steadily and slowly, that find their fans over months and years. But that is not the world we live in. We live in the world where pre-orders can, in theory, make more people pay attention, might inspire a publisher to spend more money on a book, or a bookstore to carry it, or tweak the mysterious algorithms of online retailers so that they treat it more favorably.
It is also a nice thing to do for yourself, when you forget you bought yourself a book and then a little present shows up in the mail (or at your local independent bookstore).
Don’t ignore series books. I know, I know, I know that there have been ever more series fakeouts in recent years. You pick up a book that has no indication that it’s part of a series, and then you get to the end and surprise! As a reader and especially as a reviewer, I do not love this. As a person who has done time in publishing and bookselling, I reluctantly understand why it happens. There is a perception, accurate or not, that readers don’t want to start unfinished series. (I cannot imagine where people have gotten this reluctance from.) But if a writer you know you love has a new series starting? Pick up the first one, if you can. Or get it from the library. But the thing about a series is that it has to get read in order for publishing to continue it. What I am saying here, yes, is that I desperately want the sequel to Asunder. But substitute your own favorite series and you’ll get the picture.
Volunteer and get involved. I have a little bit of a hard time with suggesting things that involve public events, these days, because it usually means telling people to go to indoor spaces in which people are often pretending covid is over. (I just had covid last month. It’s not over.) But if you can: Get involved. Volunteer at a library or a local book festival. Find out what’s happening locally and who needs help. Sometimes “getting involved” is calling or emailing your representatives or senators about local issues; sometimes it means going to a school board or neighborhood meeting. It means paying attention to what matters to you when you can, and acting when you are able to.
Appreciate. More than two years ago, Alex Brown wrote about book bans and what you can do to help fight them. I highly recommend reading this post. The key points they made apply to so much else: Know what you’re talking about; donate if you can; advocate; communicate; appreciate; and vote.
I’m stuck, right now, on “appreciate.” Alex was talking specifically about appreciating library workers, but I think this is an undervalued part of the whole art ecosystem. Appreciation is the widest net, the biggest bucket, and ranges from liking or boosting an author’s social media posts to writing them a letter to just saying something nice to a librarian or bookseller or teacher or writer. I’m shy, in person; I have all but run away from the chance to talk to authors whose work I love. I get sweaty palms just trying to prepare myself to ask a question at an author event. But I am trying to get over myself, because I think these things matter.
One of the first things I learned when I started writing for a weekly paper was to keep every nice email someone sent me. (When you write for a weekly, you tend to get more of the other kind of emails.) I had a wall in my office where I tacked up printouts of the best ones, the ones that made me feel like I was maybe okay at my job. I still do this, though now it’s more likely to be screenshots in a folder on my computer. I imagine that anyone else writing for a public audience probably does too, in their own way. (Or just anyone, period.) It is often said that writing is a solitary experience, and it’s true that the work gets done between a writer and their keyboard or paper. But there is community, and there is connection, and there is appreciation, and these things keep people afloat. Don’t be afraid to say the nice thing.
Read, and keep reading. It is an obvious statement, but I am not afraid of being obvious. I am not going to give you any of those treacly, trite, and all too often untrue statements about how books will keep us alive or bring us together or save the day or make us better people. But I am going to say that books, or the stories within them, are art; that we need art, and we need stories, and it’s cool if some of those stories are about better ways for the world to be and for us to live in it. It’s also cool if they’re about horny unicorns and magically good coffee and mythological figures who just won’t go away, or impossible odds and daring capers and even those tired old chosen ones. Escape one day and find inspiration the next. But keep going. And help others keep going when you can.
