Let It Get Awkward (And Other Lessons from Media Training)

Or: how to show up for yourself

BABY’S FIRST HEADSHOT (by Nelson Fitch)

Recently I realized I’m not a beginner anymore. Shocking, I know. I’ve published seven novels, two short story collections, and two novellas; I’ve had three books adapted to film; and thanks to the incredibly weird and occasionally wonderful time that was having the Divergent books become so successful so quickly, I’ve attended a crapload (that’s the technical term, right?) of professional conferences and conventions. I can pack for a two-week tour in a carry-on, I’ve been on the Today show twice (three times?), and every so often I have a conversation about some media personality with friends and I get to say something annoying like, “Oh, I’ve met them!”

So with that in mind, I offered some quick tips about media training on Threads that I want to expand on here. Let’s start at the beginning, though…

WTF even is “media training”?

Have you ever done an on-camera interview? For a long time my mom didn’t really believe me that they were difficult to get used to. Then I brought her to the Divergent set, and the on-set publicist asked her if she would answer a couple questions with me. She said yes. Lapel microphone went on. Camera went up. Mom’s mind went completely blank. You just don’t know how it feels until you do it, man.

So, how hard can it be? I mean, not as hard as open-heart surgery or making a functional spreadsheet, but— harder than it looks, for sure.

Media training is intended to prepare you as much as possible for that experience. When I did it the first time, it was in advance of an interview with Ryan Seacrest wherein we revealed the cover of Allegiant. I was in my early twenties, and everyone just wanted to make sure that I would do a decent job, and that meant preparation, and that meant media training.

The media trainer started by giving me a primer on what to expect from different types of media, such as: print journalists give the toughest interviews, because they need to engage readers for a longer period of time; television, on the other hand, because they get such a limited time and books are usually featured on daytime or more “upbeat” programming, is usually easier and more straightforward, but tricky because you have to think about how you’re presenting yourself physically. (My favorite interviews, by the way? Audio only. You don’t have to think about what your face is doing, but you’re still in control of how you present yourself— not true of print media.)

Then the media trainer conducted some pretend interviews with me. Some of them were basic questions and some of them were a little harder, like “we all know Ryan Seacrest is not going to grill you about [insert controversial topic], but just in case—let’s see how you handle it.”

She recorded me answering her questions, and then we watched the footage, which— if you asked me which activity I’d prefer, cleaning up my dog’s food bowl when it was infested with thousands of tiny ants, or watching myself on video, I’d choose the ants every time. But it was helpful. She pointed out things like, “you lick your lips a lot” (pro tip: if you put vaseline on your teeth before the interview, you are less likely to get dry lips! who knew), or “you make an actual grimacing face for a second when people ask you something you don’t want to answer,” or “absolutely do not repeat the negative thing someone says about you even if you’re denying it” (the Nixon mistake— “I am not a crook!”). All those things were good to know and I do recommend watching yourself on camera at least once so you can be aware of your posture and presentation, even if you’re just practicing for a job interview.

Anyway, that’s media training. Pretty simple.

My fun notes about Ryan Seacrest? He was extremely professional and good at his job. Good on the fly and understood the assignment. I did have to wear flat shoes so I wouldn’t tower over him in the shot. (I’m six feet tall; he is not.)

Don’t Waste Opportunities, Bro

The thing about being an author is, the dynamic is not the same as the one between a journalist and a celebrity, or a journalist and a politician. The stakes are just different for us. When you’re an author, you and the journalist have the same mission: make a conversation about books interesting. So media training, for me, was not about filing down my edges— I don’t have edges! I am someone who volunteered enthusiastically to spend an entire year of my life alone in front of a word processor!— it was actually about teaching me to be clear, concise, and to take advantage of the opportunities I was being offered.

And that’s the important thing here: every interview, every time your voice is featured in public, is an opportunity. I encounter far too many authors who don’t see it that way, and they kind of blow off a panel discussion because they don’t like the topic, or avoid talking about their books like “that’s boring, no one wants to hear that”…without remembering that every audience is new and just wants to know what your books are like, and that it’s your job to promote your work. That doesn’t mean you can’t be a person or have a personality, but no one is ABOVE promotion, and why are you wasting your time on that panel or in that interview if you’re not there to accomplish an actual goal, which is, bare minimum, “tell them what your book is about.”

The truth is, very few people will read your book just because they like your personality. They read your book because the book sounds interesting to them. And they’ll never know if it sounds interesting or not if you refuse to pitch it to them. So writers, authors, whoever— put on your professional pants and show up.

I was recently in conversation with Brandon Sanderson at C2E2, and it rattled me to my core (see? Now I’ve hooked you)— I was in a moment of my career where I’d gotten a little complacent, I was so used to panels and so comfortable with public speaking that I forgot one crucial thing: you have to offer people something of value. And Brandon Sanderson seems to understand that. He was immediately giving a master class on worldbuilding from the first moment of that panel. Every single question was an opportunity to share something meaningful about himself, his books, or his process. I literally sat up straighter. I thought, I have to step up my game if I want this to be a good conversation instead of just “Brando Sando and that lame-o who was sitting next to him, what was her name again?” It was a great conversation, thank you to Brandon for reminding me that when you’re talking to people about your work, it’s an opportunity and a privilege, and you should make the most of every second.

Since then I’ve changed the way I do things— I’ve been going back to the process I learned in media training.

And That Process is What, Exactly?

1. BUCKETS

The media trainer basically asked me this: what is it that you want to get across? And this is related to the whole “opportunity” thing. You need to have goals. Authors who have not had to chase down interviews for themselves, who have had them arranged by publicists or whoever, sometimes agree to them begrudgingly, like fine I’ll do it if I have to. And when that’s the case, they treat the interview (or the panel, or the conversation) like something they need to survive and endure instead of really contribute to.

What is it that you want to get across? is a question that asks you to define your contribution. With any book I write, what I want to get across is that my work is interesting and that I’m more than just the author of Divergent. (SEVEN NOVELS, PEOPLE. READ THEM, PLEASE.) So when I’m ready to start promoting a book, I try to define what’s interesting about that book.

Usually this is obvious. Poster Girl, my book about a woman who was the face of a surveillance state’s propaganda and was imprisoned after that state collapsed, had a few “buckets,” if you will. One of them was “post-dystopia”—writing about the aftermath of a fallen regime, especially given that my most famous work is about what comes before that. One of them was “social media break”—I took six months off social media when I was writing Poster Girl, for many reasons, but one of them was that I wanted to experience the same sudden loss of connection that my main character experiences in the story. One of them was “mystery”—the book was my first mystery, centered around the search for a missing girl, and I wanted to talk about how tremendously hard it is to write mysteries. You get the idea.

What you have to do is figure out what makes your book distinct. None of us are out here writing stories that are wholly unique, but there’s a reason why you gravitated toward your story in particular, why you chose to write it in exactly the way you did. Were you inspired by something, someone, or some other creative work? Did you love a certain kind of story growing up and always wanted to write one? Why? What did you have to say that wasn’t already being said?

If I was promoting Divergent now for the first time, I would talk about my first dystopia (The Giver); I would talk about first love, exaggerated by dark circumstance; I would talk about my fondness for personality tests and sorting paradigms in fiction; I would talk about Chicago as a dystopian playground. See what I mean? Divergent isn’t going to shock you with its uniqueness, that was never its job. It’s a love letter to what was (The Giver), that speaks to the experience of being a teenager (wanting to belong but feeling like you can’t; the fantasy of the popular guy who actually sees you and finds you interesting; the sudden awareness that the world you looked at with rose-colored glasses is actually broken), set in a city that is well-known but not always focused on. That’s what I want to get across: I’m not reinventing the wheel here but this book will interest you, engage you, and speak to you if you, like me, love these things in fiction.

So before you start talking about your book anywhere— online, on panels, in interviews, whatever— sit down and figure out what your “buckets” are. What are the things you want to talk about when you talk about this book? Know what they are. Write them down.

2. PITCHES

It’s worth your time to develop a quick pitch and a less-quick pitch for your book. A quick pitch is one line. I mean it— ONE LINE. This is why you hear “this meets that” so often (When Among Crows is “The Witcher meets Wizard of Oz”)— it’s fast and it works. Sorry if you’re annoyed by it, but we’re all going to keep doing it, god bless and godspeed.

A less-quick pitch is SLIGHTLY MORE THAN ONE LINE. A paragraph, guys, and not a big chunky paragraph. Truly, if I get nothing else across to you in this blog, it should be this: say something interesting, and also SAY LESS. Authors do tend to ramble, and I am including myself in that. When Among Crows is, this book is about a mysterious man on a mission to find Baba Jaga in a Chicago populated by creatures from Polish folklore. Or it’s: this book is about a mysterious man who comes to a mysterious woman with a deal— he’ll help her break the curse that’s killing her if she helps him find legendary witch Baba Jaga. The only problem is, he comes from a holy order of monster hunters…and she’s a monster.

Write these two pitches out. Practice them a kabillion times—out loud. Pat yourself on the back.

3. NEVER STOP PREPARING FOR SHIT

Often an interviewer or moderator will send questions in advance of a panel or conversation. If you’re lucky enough to be in that position, take some time to free-write your answers. You don’t have to (and shouldn’t) read them verbatim later, but you got into this business because you’re a writer, and we often do our best thinking while writing, not talking. Free-write, and then while you’re in the shower or doing your nighttime stretches or whatever, practice some responses out loud. Get used to organizing your thoughts for the purpose of speaking, rather than for the purpose of writing— those are two different skills.

4. AGAIN, SAY LESS

Get used to editing your thoughts. No one wants to hear you ramble for over sixty seconds about literally anything. Seriously. Know what the point is (that’s what all that other stuff ^ was for), get to that point, and then stop talking. You don’t need a denouement.

4. PUT IT ALL IN A GOOGLE DOC

Or wherever. Just somewhere you can access it. Then, before you do your interview or panel or video or whatever, read over your notes to keep them fresh in your mind.

Also in your google doc? Put some book recs. We all know the feeling when someone asks you for book recs and your mind goes totally blank. So just come up with a few and put them in your notes.

5. LET IT GET AWKWARD

Remember what I said earlier about how you just need to stop talking at the end of a thought? The reason people don’t do that is that it feels weird. You stop abruptly and there’s this horrible silence as the interviewer realizes, oh, she’s done, I gotta ask a follow-up. Here’s the thing, though: you do get used to that silence, and rambling means you’re more likely to be misquoted, misunderstood, or that that section of the interview will be totally omitted. So learn how to deal with the minor discomfort of silence. You won’t regret it.

Also, usually at an interview they’ll ask at the end “anything I missed?” or “anything you want to add?” and at that point you’ll be like oh thank god, I’m almost out of here. And you’ll want to say “no, we’re all good!” and bolt and maybe stick your head in your freezer, if you’re at home. But what you should do instead is think back to your buckets, your pitch, your goals— and just bring up a topic you missed. Yes: out of nowhere! When you are pretty sure your interviewer just wants to be done! Bring it up! Make it weird! If you say something good, it’ll be worth it, I promise, and if they’re a decent interviewer they’ll recognize that. And if they don’t decide to include it in the final piece, whatever, at least you tried. The stakes are low. Let it get awkward.

I recently saw a clip of Kamala Harris giving public speaking advice to some youths, and she basically said, if you were on the Titanic and you knew it was sinking, would you let fear of how you look or how you sound stop you from warning people about it? No! You’d be more worried about the urgency of your message. Now, we’re talking about books here, not life-saving messages, but the basic premise I’m suggesting is the same: if you define your goals at the outset, that should create clarity and urgency for you in every interview. Here are the things I want to get across. And you can let that urgency carry you through the awkward moments, because you’re focused on your goal, which is to tell people about your work in a way that will make them want to connect with it.

The main takeaway here is: talking about your work is a skill you can and should develop, whether you’re a writer or not. Maybe you’re not naturally gifted at it, maybe you’re not funny or particularly entertaining, but clarity is a goal that we can all achieve, whether we’re good at it or not. And honestly, friends, clarity is all you need— but it starts with you. You, having clarity about why you wrote your book. You, having clarity about what your book is and why it’s interesting. You, defining clear goals and showing up for yourself.

So, you know. Get out there and maul.

:)

-V