All Books Are Self-Help Books

Earlier today, I came across an interview with the authors of a new book called F*ck Feelings: One Shrink's Practical Advice for Managing All Life's Impossible Problems by Michael and Sarah Bennett. Michael Bennett is the shrink referred to in the subtitle, a board-certified, Harvard-educated psychiatrist . Sarah is his daughter, a comedy writer who has lent her voice to helping her father share his wisdom in an entertaining way.

Of course I clicked on the link to the article. I love psychology books. In fact, I came across this article while I was editing a psychology book--one about emotions no less. So, you know, it was research. Also, who can resist a title like that? I thought the title we currently have for the book I'm editing--Emotional Agility--was pretty damn good, but now I'm wondering if it's not profane enough? I'll take it to my boss on Monday.*

Based on the description of F*ck Your Feelings, as well as some reviews I found online, it sounds like a pretty good book. The premise is that our culture has come to value feelings too much--we're taught to get "in touch" with our feelings and to express them constructively. Only by understanding our emotions will we ever be able to move forward in life. The authors argue that this inward focus actually keeps us from achieving what we really want. Instead they promise to show you "how to find a new kind of freedom by getting your head out of your ass and yourself into the right path toward realistic goals and feasible results." Sounds like a pretty good promise to me! The descriptive copy closes by calling F*ck Feelings "the last self-help book you will ever need." (For the record, the copy starts by referring to the book as "the only self-help book you will ever need." Note to publisher: which is it?)

I bring up the last point because in the interview, the reporter asks the authors how their book differs from other "how to be content books" on the market. Sarah Bennett goes on to respond:

Well, from what we know—and we are two people that have never read a self-help book—they seem to put the onus for happiness on the reader. I've had too many friends who made Secret collages. And that makes it seem like, if you made your collage as prescribed by [the pseudoscientific self-help book] The Secret, and you’re not happy, you screwed up. When that’s not really fair to you. You could wake up that morning determined to be happy, and the first step you take out of your building is into dog shit, and now you’re unhappy, but you didn’t put the dog shit there. It's not your fault. You really can't control your happiness, no matter what a book says.

 I don't take issue with 90% of this paragraph. I have never read The Secret either, but I know I hate it because I hate any advice that teaches that the secret to happiness is simply thinking positively or putting out good energy into the universe or whatever. No, bad things happen to good, positive people all the time, and wonderful things happen to assholes. And I also agree with the author's point that there is nothing wrong with you if you aren't happy. Life is crap sometimes. You don't have to be happy about that in order to accept it.

The one comment I do take issue with is the statement that she and her dad have "never read a self-help book." Now, of course, I don't know what these people read. And, frankly, I don't need to know; that's their business. However, I would like to point out: you just wrote a self-help book! Did you not read it? It counts, you know. Also, given that her fatherMichael is a psychiatrist, I have a hard time believing he has never read a self-help book. That's like a doctor saying, "I've never read a science book." Dude, stay away from me with that scalpel! 

Clearly, this is not what the authors mean when they talk about self-help books. They define self-help as only what you find on the self-help shelf (say that three times fast!) at your typical bookstore. Actually, no, that can't be what they mean because their book is categorized as both "Self-Help/Emotions" and "Self-Help/Relationships--Interpersonal Relationships" on Amazon. And I'm sure if I walked into my local Barnes and Noble (which I can't do right now because I hurt my back, so quit criticizing me!), I'm sure I would find their book nestled comfortably between all those other self-help books.

What I assume the author means when she refers to these self-help books that she's never read are books like The Secret--inspirational books written by self-described gurus who profess to know the secrets of life and encourage people to follow their dreams and make vision boards and understand that the universe has a plan for their lives. Yadda yadda.

And I suppose that's fair because that's what people think of when they refer to "self-help" books, despite the fact that the category encompasses so much more.

When I was younger, I was something of a book snob. I wasn't reading anything all that heady, but I was only interested in reading novels (or the occasional memoir) of a certain literary quality. My mother, meanwhile, was a self-help fiend. I distinctly remember five books taking up space on her nightstand: The Power of Positive Thinking by Norman Vincent Peale, Financial Peace by Dave Ramsey, In the Meantime by Ilanya Vanzant, something by Joyce Meyer, and The Holy Bible (the ultimate self-help book!). There was also a brief window of time in which my mother kept trying to get me to read the book Why Men Love Bitches (profane titles strike again).

"It's not about being a bitch!" she told me. "It's about why men like assertive women!"

"Je refuse!" I protested (I was taking AP French). I was 17 and had dated two guys for a total of about 2.5 months. I didn't need advice about men.**

I thought these books were beneath me--and not just because I was a hard-headed teenager who knew everything; I didn't think they were worthy of my time when there were so many great novels out there that someone like me should be reading. 

I persisted in this vein through college. Then, after graduation, I got my first editorial job. I, like most would-be editors, wanted to edit the next great American novel--or at least I thought I did. Unfortunately, that job was not open in late 2007, so I took the one that was offered to me: working for a business book publisher.

I figured this job wouldn't last long--once they figured out I knew jack shit about business and had no desire to learn, they'd send me on my way. By then, though, I would have wedged my foot securely in the door and would be able to move on to something, you know, better.

Then something funny happened--I liked working on business books. Also, I had a certain talent for them--at least some of them. The other funny thing that happened was my boss kept promoting me. Apparently I didn't need to be Warren Buffett or Steve Jobs to be a decent book editor. 

Still, I persisted in thinking "I won't do this forever."

A few years into my career (3.5 to be specific), I took a trip to Eastern Europe with three girlfriends of mine. We had such a blast! We went to Budapest, Vienna, and Prague, and I drank more beer and ate more cake than I usually do in an average year.*** Here's a picture of me eating chicken at Cafe Sperl, the "best restaurant in Vienna" according to the charming Austrian man who gave us directions to get there.:

And here's a photo of me standing in front of the world-famous astrological clock in Prague:

So cool! Oh wait, where was I...

Anyway, on the flight back home, I read the book The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin. This is a memoir by a writer (not a self-help expert by training) who decided to spend a year engaging in activities that, research shows, are supposed to make you happy. The book is great because it teaches you something about happiness (though it doesn't offer lessons per se) but couches all the information in an entertaining story. I thoroughly enjoyed this book--I think I even laughed out loud once or twice--and as I finished reading the last few pages, I had an epiphany. "Oh my god," I thought to myself. "I like self-help books." Followed quickly by, "Am I becoming my mother?"

These days, self-help is what I do for a living. Yes, I'm still an editor, and the list of projects I've edited ranges from books about emotions (Emotional Agility, described above), beauty, altruism, entrepreneurship, inspiration, career advice, dating, science, personal finance, time management and a whole bunch of other stuff. But the thing that ties them all together--what I tell people when they ask me what kind of books I work on--is that they are all books that teach you something that will hopefully improve your life in some way. Sometimes I refer to this genre as self-help. Sometimes I call it "personal development." My favorite term these days is "books for a better life" or "books that teach you something about yourself." Recently, a literary agent I was talking to referred to them as "self-helpful," which I might adopt for my own lexicon. 

In a way, don't all books exist to help us in some way? Sure, plenty of people turn to overtly prescriptive books to help them with a particular problem--whether they want advice on how to manage (or f*ck, I suppose) their feelings, be a better parent, ease their pain, build their business, advance their career, find the perfect husband, or invest their savings in a more fruitful way. But we also turn to history books so we can learn from the past or discover fascinating stories that may illuminate our own lives, families, and situations. We may pick up a celebrity memoir to be entertained, or a humor book to laugh a little bit and forget the stress of the day. If we're grieving the loss of a loved one, we may not want to read a book on grieving, but we may derive comfort from a memoir by someone else who has suffered loss. And don't the greatest novels teach us some of the most profound lessons of our lives? Don't parents turn to books to teach their children about animals, and feelings and, hell, even sex? For some, Judy Blume might be the first self-help guru they encounter.

So, yes, I know what Sarah Bennett meant when she said she and her father had never read a self-help book, and I will likely read her and her father's book because it genuinely sounds like a lot of fun. In the meantime, let's not be so quick to distance ourselves from the people who peruse the self-help shelf. Let's remember that the desire to improve constantly makes us human. And the surest way to fulfillment is to learn how we can help ourselves. 

*Boss, if you're reading this, I'm kidding.

**For the record, I did read one quasi self-help book in high school, The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis, which is one of my favorite books to this day. I read it because the second of those two boyfriends really liked C.S. Lewis. See mom, I know how to get a guy to like me!

***This is not true.

The Cult of Overwork

Yesterday, The New York Times published a fascinating article entitled "How Some Men Fake an 80-Hour Work Week and Why it Matters." I was immediately struck by this headline because it promised to discuss one of my favorite subjects: productivity and time management.

The article was inspired by a study done on one, unnamed, consulting firm in which several employees reported "faking" an insanely long work week of 70-80 hours because the culture of the firm encouraged it. The article mentioned that workers who tried to demand flexibility in their schedules, thereby challenging the culture, were punished with lackluster performance reviews. And while many people did, indeed, report working up to twice the typical work week for an American (which is 35 hours), others were more creative. Instead of demanding flexible hours or flaunting their personal hours (doctors appointments, time spent with kids, vacations, etc), they simply did what they needed to do to have a balanced life and didn't make a big thing about it:

Some 31 percent of the men and 11 percent of the women whose records Ms. Reid [the professor who interviewed the employees] examined managed to achieve the benefits of a more moderate work schedule without explicitly asking for it.

They made an effort to line up clients who were local, reducing the need for travel. When they skipped work to spend time with their children or spouse, they didn’t call attention to it. One team on which several members had small children agreed among themselves to cover for one another so that everyone could have more flexible hours.

A male junior manager described working to have repeat consulting engagements with a company near enough to his home that he could take care of it with day trips. “I try to head out by 5, get home at 5:30, have dinner, play with my daughter,” he said, adding that he generally kept weekend work down to two hours of catching up on email.

Despite the limited hours, he said: "I know what clients are expecting. So I deliver above that." He received a high performance review and a promotion.

Basically, they let the work speak for itself. They got just as much done as their colleagues who slept at their desks in way less time, and no one was the wiser.

I have been reading about time management for a few years, thanks in large part to the work of Laura Vanderkam, an author and time management expert whose first three books, including 168 Hours and What the Most Successful People Do Before Breakfast, I edited in my previous life as a business book editor.

Ms. Vanderkam's primary goal is to change the way we think about time and productivity. The first step, she argues, is in understanding just how we currently spend our time. If you read any of her work, you'll quickly learn a few hard truths about this subject, specifically, that we really have no clue how we spend our time. Studies, including the annual American Time Use Survey, consistently show that Americans overestimate how much they work (by a lot) and underestimate how much they do other, one would argue more enjoyable. things like sleep, watch TV, or mess around on the internet (though we don't tent to underestimate how much we exercise because we make plenty of excuses to not exercises because we think we don't have any time to do it). 

We've all done it, and we've all heard others do it. We talk about our 50 or 60 or 70 hour work weeks with a pleading look in our eyes. But haven't you ever noticed that when people do this, it often comes across as bragging rather than complaining? And have you ever felt guilty when someone talks about how much they work and you realize that you haven't worked as long--and therefore as hard--as they have? 

Isn't this shameful? I know that I have, at times, felt ashamed when someone tells me how much they work and I think "Hmmm, this week was pretty manageable for me. I did what I needed to do at work and gave it all my best effort, but I didn't have to scramble to do it." Instead of feeling thankful that I don't work in their demanding job, I feel like I'm not earning my keep, like I should just give back my salary because I clearly haven't earned it. Instead of reflecting on the work that I do, I think about the hours I put in even though I know full well that productivity is measured in output, not input. 

Don't get me wrong. I have met people who have worked themselves to the point of breakdown, and, in those cases, I have felt sorry for them, not jealous. Overwork is a real problem, and I don't mean to trivialize it in any way. What I want to challenge is the notion that overwork is something we should be proud of. That we should measure our self-worth in terms of the hours we put in.

This is a fallacy, and a harmful one, because it rewards people for working hard, not well, and can inadvertently punish people for trying to live a balanced life. Perhaps it's just the American way, a holdover from our Puritan forbears who put the fear of God in all of us by preaching that "idle hands are the Devil's workshop." As a result we judge ourselves and others based on how much stamina and endurance we have, and we deny ourselves and our colleagues the chance to enjoy all of those things that make our lives rich, meaningful, and truly productive. Aren't we all happier, and therefore more engaged, when we have a well-rounded life? Aren't we more creative when we get out of the office and meet people or read a book or travel the world? Aren't we more ready to work when we can exercise and get a good night's sleep? Yes, of course we are.

I realize that I am fortunate. I have a lot of flexibility at my job, and my coworkers lead fulfilling and productive lives both in and out of the office. But what I love about the aforementioned article is that it proves that, even in an office culture that promotes and rewards long hours, it is possible to lead a balanced life by simply showing up, doing your work and doing it well, and then making time for the other things in your life that give you energy and bring you joy. Even if you're not fortunate enough to work in an office with a lot of flexibility, it is possible to take matters into your own hands even if you have to fake it.

Honesty and Trust: The Keys to a Great Editor/Author Relationship

I recently read the book Creativity, Inc.: Overcoming the Unseen Forces that Stand in the Way of True Inspiration by Ed Catmull. Catmull is the co-founder of Pixar Animation, though his name is not as well known as his fellow founders John Lasseter and Steve Jobs. But Ed was there from the beginning, a precocious young man whose dream was to create the first fully digital animated film, a goal he accomplished several times over, revolutionizing the industry and raising the bar for animators everywhere along the way. 

I picked up the book for a few reasons. 1) I love Pixar and have always been fascinated by the inner-workings of innovative companies, especially ones involved in creative pursuits. 2) When the book project was originally being shopped to publishers a few years ago, I tried bidding on it. Before I did, I met with Ed Catmull, and that meeting remains the best pitch meeting I've ever had. Without any ego, Catmull regaled us with behind-the-scenes stories of the making of some of my favorite Pixar films, explaining the complicated, sometimes frustrating, and often heartbreaking decisions that go into making one of those truly great films. I was flabbergasted, and even though I didn't end up working on the book, I was eager to hear more about what Ed had to say.

The book is, at its core, a business book. It's not so much about unlocking the creative process or a primer on how to tap into your own creativity as it is a book on how to effectively manage creative people, especially at a large organization. Because that's what Ed does. He's not the guy coming up with story ideas or creating characters; he's the guy responsible for making sure the movie gets made well, on time, and on budget. 

A lot of what Ed discusses in the book has to do with the core values of a creative organization. I'm not going to go into detail on those here because 1) this is not a book report 2) you should read the book and 3) I've misplaced my copy at the moment and can't quote from it. However, as I was reflecting on the book and thinking about how I could apply Ed's wisdom to my own career, I realized that at the heart of his advice is a commitment to two related ideas: honesty and trust. 

Let's start with trust. Part of being creative means trying new things, and people are generally terrified of new things. When creative people work for a large organization and are managed by people whose goals are not simply to do the most creative or exciting thing but to do the most creative and exciting thing they can while still making money, things can get tense. It's therefore the job of the manager to trust their creative talent and give them a safe space for generating ideas, trying new things and, at times, failing. 

Creating a trusting environment involves communicating expectations clearly, offering feedback, and encouraging people to keep going. At the same time, in order to manage creatives, you need to practice the flip side of trust, which is honesty.

Trust cannot exist without honesty. In his book, Catmull talks at length about what he and his colleagues at Pixar call "The Brain Trust." This consists of a group of higher-ups who aren't working directly on a particular project, but who check in on the progress of a film at critical points in its development and offer candid, honest feedback about what's working and what isn't. Sometimes the conversations are difficult, and whole story lines or characters or even the entire narrative arc of the film need to be reworked. But the Brain Trust works because everyone understands that they have the same goal: to make a great animated film. No one is trying to gain favor with someone else. No one is trying to undermine someone else's ideas. No one is trying to sabotage the project. Everyone simply wants to make the best film possible. By offering honest feedback in a constructive and controlled way, Pixar engenders a culture of honesty and trust that pervades the entire creative process.

So, it's about giving ideas a chance to breath but not being afraid to question them if they're not working. 

It's clear how this concept would work at a large corporation and how important it would be to have a formalized structure in place to ensure that trust and honesty are sustained, but I was also thinking about how this works in the more intimate editor/author relationship.

I'd never really considered it before, but one could say that an editor is a creative manager. I don't manage large teams of people, and my authors don't work for me, but the relationship is not unlike the ones described at Pixar. There is a creative person, the author, and then there is the manager, the editor, who is in charge of helping the author hone their ideas and bring them into the world. And, yes, the pressure of deadlines and budgets are often looming in the background, sometimes more ominously than others.

There are two things I always do when editing a manuscript, especially during the early developmental stages when, generally, a manuscript still requires a lot of structural and conceptual work. The first thing I always do is present my feedback honestly. Of course, I try to do this as constructively as possible, but I have, at times, told an author point-blank that they need to start over, that the structure isn't working, that their thesis is confusing, that this draft simply isn't living up to their idea's potential. Of course, I also believe in encouraging authors, so I try to point out what is working in addition to what's not.

The second thing I do is to point out that any of the suggestions I make are just that: suggestions. Sometimes I might suggest a completely new outline for the book, or I may ask them to develop their argument about a particular subject more while playing down another. But the last thing I want is for an author to feel like they need to do exactly what I'm telling them to do. If they start rewriting in that mindset, they stop trusting their instincts and will quell their own creativity in an effort to do what they think I want them to do. Any suggestion is merely designed to get an author thinking about something differently. Maybe it ends up working, maybe it doesn't, but hopefully it helped them figure out what was best. By explaining that they don't need to take all of my suggestions at face value, I am telling them that I trust them to take this feedback to heart and understand where I'm coming from. They are still empowered in their role as author, in their role as the creative force behind the project.

A big part of promoting honesty and trust is only expressing opinions when you actually have a fully formed opinion. So often people want their voices to be heard, or they want to look like their contributing, so they speak up when they have very little to say. They criticize things they know nothing about, they nitpick, they try to assert control over things they shouldn't be controlling. I once, for instance, worked with an author who insisted on designing his own table of contents page rather than leave it to our professional in-house designer who had been designing book interiors for decades. Needless to say, that author did not inspire trust in anyone he worked with.

Understanding one's role is a big part of this as well. As an editor, my role is to help the author communicate their ideas. The operative phrase here is "their ideas." Not mine. For the first few years of my career, I edited conservative political books even though I am a pretty staunch liberal. I worked with authors whose views completely opposed my own. If I had edited these manuscripts so that they pleased me or so the arguments lined up with what I believed, I would not have been doing my job. It was difficult sometimes, but I did it, and I think my authors were grateful. I don't know if they ever guessed at my political affiliation, but I can guarantee it never came up in any editorial conversation I ever had.

Editing is a solitary process, so I can't speak to what other editors do, but I would bet that the best ones operate, consciously or not, based on this philosophy of trust and honesty. Our job is to help the author write the best book possible, and we do that by creating a dialogue, a partnership where we are free to communicate our ideas, try new things, experiment, brainstorm, and riff without judgement or fear of reprisal. The best editor/author relationships are the ones where this works both ways: where the editor not only trusts the author, but the author trusts the editor. This means they take the editor's suggestions to heart, even if they don't end up implementing every one, and that they trust the editor's instincts and expertise. When honesty and trust are reciprocated in the editor/author relationship, magic happens.

If you're an author looking for an editor (or an agent who will function as  your creative manager in the process leading up to selling your book), I encourage you to keep this idea in mind. Obviously, it's impossible to know if an honest relationship is possible until you really begin to work with someone, but there are ways to figure it out before you sign a contract. For instance, if you're meeting with editors prior to selling the book, ask them candid questions about the structure you propose. If they have concerns, make sure you understand them and their vision is in line with your own. If they love it and have no suggested changes, you should understand what they like about it so you can keep it in mind as you move forward. It's easy to get swept up by advance numbers (and I'm certainly not suggesting you ignore those) and the reputation of the publisher itself, but having a good working relationship with your editor is priceless because it will make you a better writer and also reassure you throughout the long, painful, emotionally draining process of writing a book. And if you're lucky,  you may end up finding an editor you can trust for the rest of your long, very successful career.

Happy writing!