A friend who’s working on a new book (hi Corey!) asked if he could pick my brain about book marketing, seeing as I’d recently released one. Most of the advice I was able to share was just stuff I’d learned from others. Abby Covert sent me a very nice and helpful email of tips when I asked. My friend Brian, a great designer, let me pick his brain a while back about how to communicate better with designers and the AIGA crowd. And ABA connected me with Leslie Zaikis, who sent all kinds of lovely checklists and ideas to help launch and promote the book. There were more. And I suspect someone will be picking Corey’s brain a year from now with similar questions for him.
I hope I was helpful. But the truth, as I shared with Corey, is that I feel like I limped over the finish line on Writing for Designers. It was tough because writing is hard, and because it was my first book, and especially because the process of writing the book overlapped with some really difficult stuff in my personal life. I didn’t have much energy to do nearly as many of the promotional things I would have liked to do before, during, and after the launch back in October. Which isn’t to say I didn’t do anything; I organized a launch party, I sent SO MANY emails, I did a webinar for one meetup group and visited another in person, and lots of other little things here and there. But I felt like I’d left a lot still sitting on the table.
So I’m trying to get back to it. A few opportunities have sailed, sure, but October wasn’t that long ago. The book isn’t even six months old. And it just came out in print a little while ago. I’m in a steadier place now, and I’m trying to use this place to build momentum. I know from experience that you can’t force it. A little bit each day, then a little bit more.
So I’ve been trying to write and tweet more, about writing and design, but also just in general. I’m trying to be zen about having done the best I could at the time, even if it was less good than I wanted, and continuing to do the best I can going forward. I think that’s the real best advice I have to offer: do what you can today.
My book is in print now. Available in print, anyway. Print on demand. I have a printed copy. (I don’t want to get “you wrote a text”-ed about my book and its relationship to paper. But I digress.)
I did not know this was going to happen when I agreed to write for the Briefs series, so it’s been a delightful surprise. I’m glad it happened relatively soon after the original release of Writing for Designers, too.
I’ve been sharing my thoughts on writing and content and design with the broader UX world for almost a decade now. Long enough to see ideas from my talks and tweets and blog posts get … upcycled, let’s call it … into other people’s talks, tweets, even books. Not maliciously, often not even consciously, I imagine. But it happens. So it’s been nice to be able to look at a thing I’ve made and say: “Yes. This is unambiguously mine. I made it and it exists and it happened and here is the proof.”
A lot of things I’ve done are kind of…squishy. Spaces. Events. Programs. Campaigns. Concepts. All things I’ve enjoyed, but not things I can stick directly on a shelf. I’d collect trinkets; a DMMC lighter, a Gross Domestic Product poster, a Market Day button, “Speaker” badges from umpteen conferences. But trinkets get dusty, and untidy, and they aren’t the thing, just a reminder of it. My dad always talked about how satisfying it was to look back after a day of laying brick and be able to see your labor. (He also liked to take circuitous routes through Omaha so Mom and I could see his labor, too.)
So this is what I’m brainstorming now. How can I render and represent my labors? I’m getting more photos printed, for starters. Even hung a couple up in my apartment. Vain? Sure. Inspiring? Also yes.
I’m incredibly grateful to everyone that’s ordered a paper copy of the book, especially those who already bought the ebook back in October. If you’re one of them, please consider sharing a photo of it on your desk, bookshelf…hell, even on top of your toilet tank. It’s very motivating, and I can always use a bit more of that.
Recently back from an overnight trip to Chicago to speak with their UX Book Club. My book Writing for Designers was the featured book, and they hosted a Q&A style event with the author, who is me! This was the first time I’ve been at an in-person event specifically because I wrote a book. I thought I’d be more nervous about it but I never really was, just excited. Blind dates and conference talks are more stressful.
Getting to Chicago
When I first started speaking and embarking on my current career in earnest, around 2012, I was always looking at events like this and wondering: how does that work? Logistically and financially, I mean. Are authors getting paid to do Meetups? (LOL, no.) Are publishers paying to send them there? (LOL, no.) Are authors making enough on book sales from these appearances to justify the cost? (LOLOLOL. No.) For my niche industry book and where I’m at in my career, none of those things were the case. Turns out it’s just a lot of asking people nicely for a bit of help.
As part of the pre-launch marketing for my book, I sent lightly-customized emails to several hundred people (about half of my LinkedIn connections) to say a bit about the book and ask for help. My friend Cate Kompare, a lovely human that I coincidentally met at a different UX book club in Champaign-Urbana many years ago, replied to say that her employer Solstice has been hosting more events, and asked what it would cost to get me out there. I quoted a modest appearance fee for a private event, and said that I could also do it for just travel reimbursement for a public event. They were able to do the latter, and Cate coordinated co-presenting it through the UX Book Club Chicago. Kristina and Brain Traffic have been very supportive, and were happy to handle invoicing my expenses and giving me the time to get down there.
I smashed the trip right into my work schedule. I had a conference call Tuesday morning up until I needed to leave for the airport, and did a bit of work in the afternoon at Solstice before the Meetup started. I was back in the office around 11:30 the next day, and right back to work.
The flight was about $250, the hotel about $175, and three Lyft rides totaling around $80. I paid for food on my own and took the light rail and bus home from the airport to land closer to the $500 in travel expenses estimate I’d given Cate. (And if I’m not in a hurry, I prefer taking the train home anyway.)
Being the author
A couple of days before the event, Cate asked if I’d want to set up a merch table or other sort of display. A totally smart question that caught me off guard. Shit! It’s an ebook! I don’t have, like, a thing! Luckily I still had some A Book Apart buttons and stickers from my launch event in Minneapolis. I made a little display of them and some of my Brain Traffic business cards next to the pizza laid out for the meetup. I’m thinking I might want to get a little poster in a photo frame and a newsletter sign-up sheet on a clipboard, maybe some postcards, for future events. It’s not all that important if people even sign up or take your card, but it does help to make things look more “official” and put together.
Cate and Shane (one of the Meetup organizers) prepared some excellent questions. There were also great ad-hoc questions from the audience. I tried to stick to my guns of only answering questions I felt like I could really answer, and saying “I don’t know” for the rest, but I did feel a pressure I haven’t really felt before to be the expert. I don’t think this was a good instinct, necessarily, but I did feel liberated to speak with a bit more passion and conviction than maybe I have in the past. If people don’t like my answers they can yell at me on Twitter! I know I turned around at least one question about content testing that I don’t have as much experience with to the audience.
Ten times more
On Back to Work, Merlin has talked several times about the “ten times more” metric. The gist is: look at something in your life and ask if you’d want ten times more of that. For instance, I had a bit of fun buying and selling vintage clothing at pop-up markets and filling orders on Etsy, but not so much fun that I wanted ten times more of it. Realizing that made me it easier to let go of when it became too much.
So that’s what I’m chewing on now, after an event like this. Do I want ten times more writing books, going to meetups, talking to people who care about this stuff as much as I do? I’m leaning towards yes.
Extremely grateful to Cate, everyone else at Solstice whose names I’ve already forgotten (sorry!), Shane and the Chicago UX Book Club, and everyone who came out. Let’s do it again sometime!
There’s a joke that having a writing deadline is the best way to get your house clean. Personally, I channeled this form of productive procrastination into digital spaces while getting to a finished first draft of the book. This was also partly out of thoroughness and desperation — “I know I’ve thought thoughts about this before, did I write it down? WHY DIDN’T I WRITE IT DOWN?”
During this procrastinatory polishing, I cleaned out and killed:
An old Scrivener project for the book that I started before the contract was official
An old GitHub repository for the book I never really made use of
Various text drafts in orphaned folders from when I imagined tackling a similar topic as a self-released iBook in 2014
My entire personal Evernote archive
nvAlt and thousands of associated text files
A work-specific journal in Day One with a few hundred entries
Several misc. folders of app screenshots
Dozens of mindmaps that had built up in iCloud that I thought for sure I’d need again but were all junk
Thousands of junk bookmarks in Pinboard from some social media automation I set up back in the day
Two underused IFTTT accounts
Six or so novelty Twitter accounts I’d never updated after the first month
And lots of other things I’ve already forgotten about
I also processed through a dozen or so analog notepads and small paper notebooks.
Most of this stuff was garbage. Just noise. With ever-bigger hard drives and near infinite cloud storage, our digital closets can be as big as we want them to be. But I’ve found that that’s not without a psychic cost. I felt like I was trying to do my work inside of a giant junk drawer. The elegant chamfered aluminum edges of a closed MacBook Pro can bely just how untidy things really are within.
Cleaning out my digital workshop out in this way helped me feel more productive with the tools that I did still have, and allowed me to approach my use of them with a clearer purpose. I actually use Pinboard now, for instance, and it’s become part of my blogging workflow and book marketing workflow. Bear — which I used to replace nvAlt, Evernote, Apple Notes, and an analog notebook of lists — has fewer notes than any one of those collections had previously, and is actually useful to look at now.
Feeling like I had permission to do this was one of the biggest side benefits of writing a book. Having a very specific project, with a signed contract and a due date, eliminated other possibilities (in a good way), which eliminated excuses to hoard digital things, and gave me more actionable clarity on what was still valuable. “Is this going to help me write this book? How about the next one? No? Then it’s gone.”
(Don’t worry — my PUGS PUGS PUGS folder is still growing exponentially.)