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Here's what I learned TOTALLY by accident. Personal story sells.

Writing

I’m a disaster at cocktail parties

November 4, 2018

Here’s the question I get all the time, the minute I identify myself as a book coach. (Not that there aren’t, like, 1,634 definitions of that job title alone. Me, I’m what you’d call a developmental editor.)

Can a person write a book in a weekend?

The person asking tends to be a very busy entrepreneur with a glass of wine in hand who recognizes the need to have a book out in the world, who sees it as a credibility builder. And it is.

I usually buy some time by downing a handful of nuts or crudites. I know what they want me to say, what will get them to hand me their money for my services, but my ethics continually get in the way.

Listen, I’m not stupid. Most of the time, they don’t actually want to write a book, these nice people, that takes too much time and effort: it’s the byproducts of the book they’re after.

They want more:

  • clout,
  • money,
  • clarity,
  • confidence,
  • authority,
  • gravitas,
  • and impact.
  • They want to inspire a much larger audience.
  • They want media attention,
  • bigger opportunities,
  • speaking engagements.
  • To own their niche.

They’re not stupid either. They’d simply like a shortcut to get them to the promised land faster. Who can blame them?

They’ve gotten as far as they have because they’ve been willing to pull the trigger on a project before they’re convinced it’s done. Better done than perfect, and I agree in theory.

Once I’ve wiped my lips, because I’m polite like that, I usually give them my standard answer:

Can you write a book in a weekend? Yes and no.

If you have tons of starter material or choose a ridiculously simple genre, or you’re willing to hire professionals to clean up the mess you create, then the answer is yes.

The answer is no if you’re starting from scratch, and you want to take your reader on a very specific journey using story. Then you’re asking for trouble because to do that right takes time and thought. It takes more than popping off a single close-enough-ish draft.

I tend to get a skeptical look in return. These folks have been around the block. They’re savvy to all of the programs out there that promise them quick results.

They’ve seen the long lines at some of the conference booths:

  • The “talk your book ”programs that turn your story recordings into transcriptions that can be loaded into Createspace, all in a heartbeat.
  • The weekend retreats or telesummits that claim that two days is all it takes to produce a veritable masterpiece.
  • The turn your mother’s chip dip recipe into an Amazon Bestseller packages.

Shit, I know better, and I want to buy those programs.

Problem is, I know what usually comes out the back end of those programs. You do too.

Utter shit.

Don’t tell me you haven’t been handed one of those horrific self-published books. The ones entrepreneurs hand out at every conference instead of business cards. The ones that make you shake your head in horror and avoid all further eye-contact. All before you’ve reached page two. (Not all of these business card books are bad, trust me. There’s a good deal to be had by having one of these to your name, there really is. But you know when you’ve got a nightmare in your hands, and when you don’t.)

And yet we all continue to look for the quick fix, the lose 5-lbs-in- 5-days magic pill. It’s simply human nature. Why fight it?

Those folks, the skeptical chardonnay guzzlers, they never hire me. I think they need to write that expensive business card first before they’re really ready to sink the time and effort into something so much more impactful. And that’s OK. It really is. They’re not my avatar.

My people want to write what I’d call a legacy book. They want a book with lasting impact. The kind that changes people’s lives. The kind that makes their readers/potential clients understand a problem, or an important concept, in an entirely different way. The kind that’s so insightful, so real, that the reader longs to work with the author in whatever capacity possible.

My people know that:

  • It’s worth the effort to write a life-changing book that establishes you as a leader in your field, not some glorified business card that gets chucked in the trash before you even walk away
  • You can attract ideal clients, have them beg to work with you or buy what you sell, by not annoying them with drivel.
  • You can make an impact, create a legacy, help others by solving real problems, instead of throwing yet another shoddy excuse-for-a-book out into the world.
  • You can make more money with a book that takes you a bit more time to write— instead of wasting your valuable resources

My people have figured out that, by having a polished expert-positioning book out in the world, as opposed to unintelligible junk, you’ll inspire a much larger audience, garner media attention, attract bigger opportunities, book juicy speaking engagements. You’ll own your niche and make the kind of money niche leaders make. And they accept that the job at hand requires some elbow grease.

Anyway, I’m horrible at cocktail-y get-togethers. I come off as way too earnest and intense. I should probably come up with a standard answer to the question that lets us both off the hook so we can part company quickly and get on our merry way. Or switch topics to something less strenuous, like the weather. I live in Ireland, I can get a good five minutes out of that.