Category: Stories in Stone Blog

Earlier this week, I wrote a bit about the early process of writing a science book, focusing on converting an idea into a proposal. Michael and Brian did the same and then addressed the writing itself. As Michael observed, each writer takes a different approach, and mine was unlike his or Brian’s.

Building stone was a subject that had long interested me. I wrote my first article on it for Harvard’s alumni magazine in 1997. Over the next half dozen years I wrote another 8 or 9 stories so when I began to think about my book, I had a lot of good background material. Still, I needed more stories and more stone to focus on. I knew that I wanted each chapter to focus on a different type of stone, which led me to the GeoRef database. If you’re not familiar with GeoRef, it’s THE database of geology with over 3 million references stretching back to the 1600s.

Through this research, plus some searching of the web, I ended up with 10 chapter ideas. Several principles guided my choice of stones. I knew I wanted the book to reintroduce general readers to the three types of rock—igneous, metamorphic, and sedimentary—as well as to fundamental geological concepts, such as plate tectonics, geologic time, and fossil formation, that most people probably haven’t thought much about since their high school science class. Furthermore, in discussing the geological phenomena and how the earth’s changes affect the look, feel, strength, and distribution of particular rocks, I wanted to provide the background necessary for understanding the long relationship between people and stone, on levels emotional, philosophical, and prosaic.

And finally, from a practical standpoint, I chose building stones that are widely and commonly used, so that a reader who is interested in looking at a particular rock firsthand can probably find it on his or her next visit to a major city. Some were rocks I knew well, such as brownstone, Quincy granite, Salem Limestone, east coast slate, and Italian travertine. Others were new to me (or at least the specific rock units were new), including petrified wood from Colorado, coquina from Florida, and marble from Italy. And one, the granite in Robinson Jeffers’ house, I chose simply because I loved the house and wanted to learn more about it and Jeffers.

Now that I had the subjects, I dove into the research. I wrote people who studied the rocks. I tracked down obscure documents. I looked for history accounts. I tried to figure out how the different rocks connected to each other and how to order them in the book. Should they be geologically chronological, chronologically based on when the buildings were built, or geographically organized.

As I noted in my previous posting, my agent wanted me to provide a reason for the reader to continue reading, in essence a beginning, middle, and end to the book. Despite my efforts, often pained, I couldn’t really figure out a logical way to progress the book. What I ended up with was a somewhat subtle way of connecting the chapters. The first chapter, on brownstone, introduces me and the subject and why I am passionate about stone. I ended the book with travertine because it sums up and exemplifies many of the subjects I covered.

In between these book ends (ha-ha), the chapters are paired. My second chapter focuses on a granite that transformed architecture, transportation, and business across the entire eastern seaboard. In contrast, my second granite chapter illustrates how stone can transform a single man, poet Robinson Jeffers. Set two pairs the most commonly used building stone in the country with a stone used in only one structure. My third set of chapters contrasts the oldest commonly used building stone in the world and one of the youngest building stones. The next pair of stones contrasts practicality with grandiosity.

The first chapter I wrote was about Quincy granite, mostly because I knew it well from my time living in Boston. It has a compelling mix of history and geology. I wrote the remaining chapters in no particular order. For each, I gave myself two months to write, do additional research, interview experts, and visit the quarry and/or building.

None of the chapters came easily. A few had somewhat natural story lines to follow, particularly those concerning a specific building with a long history but for most I simply started to write about what I had learned, not always going in any direction. I found that as I did this the chapter would start to develop a natural rhythm, though this required writing, rewriting, and rewriting again.

I did have a goal of making each chapter have a different structure. In addition, I didn’t want to have a section on geology then one on history; I wanted a balanced approach where the topics intercalated. I don’t know or really want to know how many times I wrote each chapter.

When each chapter was finished I would pass it on to my wife for a first round of edits. Fortunately for her, she is neither a geogeek nor was her head filled with all of the chapter-related trivia I had, so she was ideal to comment on whether the chapter was too technical or if I wrote something and left out key details, which were in my head. After her edits, I worked on the chapter again and when I was finished with it, I would go through and footnote it to make sure I knew where every reference came from. I would then set it aside and start the next chapter.

The manuscript that I turned in was basically the one I proposed. Like Brian, I wondered what my editor would do. After reading the first chapter she had one major observation. There was too much of me personally in the book. As she put it “The reader wants to see what you are seeing, he/she doesn’t want to see you seeing it.” Taking this to heart, which was hard because I thought that the use of I gave my writing a strong voice, I did what she said. And, of course, I now think that she is right.

Similar to what Michael wrote yesterday about humor (or humour), a little bit of me can help the narrative but too much slows the flow and takes away from the story telling. I agree with this. I also removed many of my attempts at humor in the book.

Finally, I turned in round two of my complete manuscript and again had the pleasure of waiting for my editor’s comments. They were smart and helpful and I disagreed with very few of them. And in the one case where she suggested a big change, she was absolutely correct. The entire process from writing the first chapter to final edits of the manuscript was about three years.

Following Michael’s sage lead again, enough for now. Any thoughts would be wonderful.

As I noted the other day, Brian, Michael, and I are starting what we hope to be a conversation about science books, science book writing, and science book publishing. The initial topic is on how to make a technical (and possibly, seemingly obscure) topic accessible, exciting, and of interest to a publisher, as well as to readers. As with Michael’s post, this turned out a bit longer than I expected.

This is an idea that writers constantly wrestle with; most of us recognize that we will be more passionate about a subject than most of our readers, so how do we entice/interest others in our topic. To me a key word is passion. If you can’t convey your passion for the subject, why would anyone else want to follow you.

For Stories in Stone and for the book proposal I am working on right now, I have tried to put this to the test. I talked about my book topic to friends and family and saw what interested them. What aspects of the story did they pick up on? What did they want to know more about? When did their eyes glaze over? Talking about the subject also helped me realize when my eyes were glazing over, when I didn’t fully understand what I hoped to write about, and what just didn’t feel right.

Good research is one means of expressing your passion. Dive into your topic, learn as much as you can, see how others have written about it, find the connections. These can help show a publisher that you are serious about your subject and that you are willing to do the work to tell a good story. Research will also give you the characters to flesh out your story and to pull away from the purely technical or obscure.

Readers like to relate to people. The best science writing doesn’t hit you directly over the head with the science. You will have a better chance of enticing people into the subject if they can connect with the human element. One way to think of this is to think of slipping science in the back door or weaving it into the overall fabric of the story through the people who experienced the science.

That being said, it is critical to keep the science in the book. Don’t dumb it down or omit it just because it is challenging. If we don’t put in the science, who will? Think of it as a conversation. Sure you can drop in the big words, but do so sparingly. Challenge your readers and maybe have some fun with them by using humor.

Ultimately, what is going to make a complicated or obscure subject appeal to publishers and readers is the story you have to tell. As my agent puts it, give the reader a reward for following along. Don’t just list all the cool things about your subject but write so that the reader wants to get to the end, to see how the story plays out. If the reader can learn something or have a new way of viewing or relating to the subject, that is even better.

The reason that Michael’s book has been so well received is that everyone has seen sand and can relate it, and after reading Sand, every reader will look at sand with new eyes and a new appreciation. Furthermore, it is clear that Michael is a bit nutty about sand and that he has done the research to tell his story. As I read the book, I could easily imagine wanting to be out the field with him and hearing him tell me about sand.

Part 2 – The proposal.

The basics of the proposal are somewhat formulaic: what is the book about, who you are, or why you are the person to write the book; marketing; inspiration and competition. My proposal for Stories in Stone ran to around 60 to 65 pages. It started with a broad opening to the subject, followed by a short section on how I would approach the subject. I also included a brief outline, detailed descriptions (600-900 words) of each chapter, and one full chapter. The chapter isn’t always necessary but for an unknown author it is. You have to show that you can write. The marketing, about the author, and inspiration and competition sections took up just four pages of my proposal.

A few thoughts on agents. You must have an agent to work with a national publisher. For my previous books, The Street-Smart Naturalist and A Naturalist’s Guide to Canyon Country, both of which were published by regional presses, I did not have an agent. I just sent the standard proposal in to the publishers. I was rejected numerous times for each.

In regard to my agent, I was fairly lucky finding one. A fellow author and friend had recommended me to his agent, who was open to me sending in a proposal to her. I submitted a very short proposal (about three pages) and after she agreed to represent me, we spent the next six months fashioning the one she sent out to publishers. My agent was critical in helping me put together this proposal. It wasn’t always fun as I was reduced to tears at times trying to come up with a compelling way to show that my technical/obscure subject would be interesting to more than just a few geo-geeks.

Publishers:

Regional and university presses: As noted earlier, you can usually submit a proposal without an agent to these presses. The down side is that such publishers usually offer a smaller advance, have a smaller marketing budget and perhaps less editing. And, at least in the case of my book, The Street-Smart Naturalist, the company could go bankrupt. The advantages can be the reputation of the press, particularly for a university press and that you are a bigger fish in the sea so you may get more energy devoted to promotion.

Self-publishing: This has certainly gotten easier in the past few years but still has some pitfalls. Newspapers might not review self-published books, not that newspapers are the only reviewers. There may be some skepticism about “Oh, you couldn’t get someone else to publish it so you had to do it yourself.” Also, you have to pay for things like editing, design, and indexing. You have to handle all publicity and marketing and store the books. That being said, my one experience, which is maybe not reflective of the industry as whole has been good. In the early 1990s I produced a guide book to a very popular mountain bike/4wd trail, which has sold upwards of 10,000 books. We have had dumb luck in that no one else has produced another guide and the area we wrote about became highly regulated so that all who go on the trail have to pass through a national park visitor center, which carries the book.

Again, any thoughts on my comments or Michael’s (Through the Sandglass) and Brian’s (Laelaps) would be great.