What Can I Add? Ideas for Non-Fiction Books

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After brainstorming a great new idea for a nonfiction book, one of the most important questions to ask yourself is “What can I add to this topic?”
To find out, you must check Amazon.com or take a trip to a couple of bookstores to find out what’s already been published about your subject.
Agent Djana Pearson Morris says, “Take a serious look at the competition– if someone’s already done it well, or if there’s a glut of books on the subject, this may not be a book that will be able to stand out in the market, hence it will be of little interest to publishers, regardless of its attributes.”
Pay no mind to the out-of-print books, vanity-published titles, or e-books, because traditional publishers won’t consider them competition and general readers are unlikely to have read them. But do pay close attention to anything that’s on bookstore shelves today.
Ask yourself if there’s a need and a demand for more information on the topic. For example, even if you have great insights to add, the world probably doesn’t need more than one book about how to properly water a fern. Sure, I’m using an absurd example, but if your book has a limited potential audience, how hungry is this audience for new information? Would anyone buy two books about how to water a fern?
If not—and bookstores already stock one—stores will be unlikely to stock a second one. “We already have a fern book,” they’ll tell the sales rep. “What else have you got?”
Some topics, however, have dedicated audiences who will happily buy more than one book, provided the books each offer something the others don’t.
Take my latest book as an example — Make a Real Living as a Freelance Writer. I knew there were already plenty of books about freelance writing. And just the fact that I was going to write a book on the topic in my own style would not be good enough. Just the fact that I could use some personal examples that the others hadn’t was not enough, either.
Publishers knew it was a crowded market, but they also knew that writers don’t need just one book about freelance writing; it’s likely that they’ll read a handful of books on the topic, and it’s worthwhile for them to do so. There are plenty of ways to be successful as a freelance writer, and different perspectives on how to break in or to stay successful.
So my job was to convince a publisher (and readers) that my book would offer something substantively different from what the other books offered, or that I would take over where other books left off.
There would be some required overlap, of course—you can’t write a book about magazine writing without ever explaining what a query letter is or what types of rights a publication may buy, so you’ll probably find that in every book for magazine writers. But the key to selling my book was figuring out what I could add to the already-vast mounds of literature on the topic.
I realized that I found my success as a writer somewhat differently from the other authors I’d read. I had broken most of the rules in the other books for writers, and I had bent the rest of them. And I realized that, at the time I proposed it, no other book for freelance writers had current information about the way magazines “really” worked since the Internet came along. No one else was discussing e-mail queries or how to figure out an editor’s e-mail address. No one was addressing the issue of how to send out clips electronically, or what sites to visit to find interviewees and experts for articles.
On top of that, nearly all of the books were meant for beginners. I couldn’t find books that reliably showed me how to go from getting my first few credits to moving on and actually making a career at it—becoming a columnist or a contributing editor at a major magazine, for instance.
So in my proposal, I stressed the things I would add: a more timely perspective, an alternative to the rules other books laid out, and a slant toward the intermediate writer rather than the beginner.
As an author, you don’t just do these things because it’ll help you sell a proposal to a publisher; you also do it for the reader. I’ve been mighty frustrated when I’ve spent hard-earned money on a book, only to find that it regurgitates the same information I’ve found in other books, magazines, or online. Your obligation as an author is to cherish your readers, and to make them happy with their decision to buy your books. Otherwise, don’t expect them to follow you to the next book, and don’t expect to build any word-of-mouth buzz.
A few chapters of new information in a book that’s otherwise filled with information easily available elsewhere just isn’t enough to justify the cover price of books today. So, aside from your (certainly engaging) writing style and personal anecdotes, how will you add to a reader’s knowledge in a way that justifies the hard work he put in to earn the money to buy your book?
Here are some possibilities:
- Can you slant it for a specific group of people within the category’s market that the others haven’t? For example, while there were plenty of books for screenwriters on the market, there weren’t any geared toward young people—so Christina Hamlett wrote ScreenTEENwriters just for them.
- Can you talk to people who disagree with what “experts” have said on the topic?
- Can you find out recent developments that have changed the accuracy of information in other books?
- Can you offer a significantly different perspective on the topic?
- Can you expand on a little-known or little-written-about aspect of the topic?
- Can you perform real-life experiments that show the results of theoretical discussions in other books?
- Can you make it interesting and relevant to a group of people who wouldn’t normally pick up a book on the topic? (Adding humor to a book about punctuation, for example, helped Eats, Shoots and Leaves author Lynn Truss pique the interest of more than a million people who never would have thought of buying a book about punctuation before.)
What makes your book different is what makes it important. Ask yourself what you can add, and you may just have yourself a bestseller in the making.

The Makings of a Personal Essay, Really

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Sometimes I can be dense when it comes to realizing the potential of my own life experiences as essays for magazines. I, of course, fully believe that everything in my life is newsworthy, but sometimes have trouble figuring out which experiences will hit home with other people.
I recently learned the secret, and it can be summarized in one word: “Really?”
My friends know that I can talk. I mean, I can talk! Get me on the phone and I’m likely to tell you all about my day, from my breakfast to my editor’s latest comments to my insomnia. I don’t inflict my tendency toward verbosity on everyone, but at least a few trusted souls get to bear the brunt of my solitary lifestyle and my need to dish.
Their reactions tell me whether or not I have the material for a marketable personal essay.
My all-time best-selling essay is a simple story about a boy who won a stuffed animal for his little sister in a crane machine. When I saw it happen, I was so touched I almost cried. When I retold it to my mom, the tears welled up again. I got to the climactic moment—“And then he bent down and gave the stuffed animal to his little sister and kissed her on the forehead”—and my mom asked, “Really? That’s so sweet!”
Bing. “Really?” translates to “That’s a great story.”
When I tell mom about the new toy I bought for my cat, she never asks, “Really?” She doesn’t press me for details. She probably can’t wait for me to shut up so she can hang up the phone and do something productive that doesn’t involve listening to my escapades with my cat. But when I’ve hit on something that might actually warrant an article, her reaction won’t be a simple “Mmm-hmm,” or “That’s great.” It’ll be a question, or a plea to share more.
The reactions to listen for, in addition to “Really?” are:
-Then what happened?
-What did you do?
-How did you (/he/she) react?
-Tell me more!
-That’s amazing!
-That’s so cool!
A few weeks ago, I was talking to Jamie Blyth (I’m helping to write his book, Fear Is No Longer My Reality) about how far I’ve come in beating my anxiety disorder. One of the things I mentioned was that I used to have an obsessive-compulsive disorder related to food. He wanted to know more. I explained that I went through a two-year phase where I ate nothing but canned foods and other food with really long shelf lives.
“Really?” he asked.
Oh. I hadn’t thought about that phase of mine in quite some time, and had forgotten that it might be intriguing to people who’ve never experienced OCD. OCD as an overall topic has been done many times, but this detail—the canned foods and my almost deadly diet—hasn’t. It doesn’t belong in a how-to article. It works because of the telling, because of the personal nature of the story. And as I sat down to write it, a beautifully marketable essay formed almost effortlessly.
Think about what details of your story set it apart from similar stories. Countless essays have been written about alcoholism, eating disorders, miscarriage, drug abuse, abusive marriages, finding God, giving birth… that doesn’t mean you can’t tell your story. You just have to find a unique angle, a new way of telling it, a nugget that people will remember.
The same effortless type of story formed when I told people how Anthony and I bought our house. We fell so in love with it that we kept coming to visit and take pictures—we would sit on the other side of the lake, facing the owners’ backyard, and just hug and dream of what it would be like to live there.
When it came time to make an offer, we were immediately outbid by thousands of dollars and couldn’t match the price. We went to say goodbye to the owners, and they told the Realtor to take it off the market—we were the people they wanted to live in the home they’d loved for 40 years. They had seen us from their back window all the times we came to admire the house from afar, and they knew we would appreciate the gardens, the greenhouse, the lake. So they took a loss of thousands of dollars because they wanted us to live our dream.
Quick, what was your reaction to that story? I hope it was “That’s amazing!,” because that’s the reaction I got from nearly everyone who heard the story. Within a couple of weeks of moving in, I sold the essay to A Cup of Comfort and sent the anthology to the previous owners of the house.
If someone’s eyes light up when you tell a story, chances are excellent that there’s a market for it. If one person finds it interesting, inspiring, hilarious, or moving, others likely will, too.
Consider your friends and family your test audience. Test out your experiences on them. If they don’t press you for more details, either the story isn’t there, or you need a more compelling way to tell it.
You can also test by e-mail; send a few friends a note about a recent experience of yours and see how many of them react to it. Note, too, how quickly they react. If they respond right after reading it, their interest levels are probably high. If they respond a week later and mention, “By the way, that was a nice story,” it likely didn’t pass the test.
Personal experiences don’t need to be earth-shattering to be worthy of print. They just need to be interesting, insightful, and emotion-provoking in almost any sense of the word. Your story may make someone happy, mad, upset, horrified, shocked … as long as you can elicit a strong emotion, you can draw readers. And editors like writers who can draw readers.
Go forth and share your experiences. Personal essays are wonderful gifts to share with the world. Really!

The Makings of a Personal Essay, Really

Click Here to continue

Sometimes I can be dense when it comes to realizing the potential of my own life experiences as essays for magazines. I, of course, fully believe that everything in my life is newsworthy, but sometimes have trouble figuring out which experiences will hit home with other people.
I recently learned the secret, and it can be summarized in one word: “Really?”
My friends know that I can talk. I mean, I can talk! Get me on the phone and I’m likely to tell you all about my day, from my breakfast to my editor’s latest comments to my insomnia. I don’t inflict my tendency toward verbosity on everyone, but at least a few trusted souls get to bear the brunt of my solitary lifestyle and my need to dish.
Their reactions tell me whether or not I have the material for a marketable personal essay.
My all-time best-selling essay is a simple story about a boy who won a stuffed animal for his little sister in a crane machine. When I saw it happen, I was so touched I almost cried. When I retold it to my mom, the tears welled up again. I got to the climactic moment—“And then he bent down and gave the stuffed animal to his little sister and kissed her on the forehead”—and my mom asked, “Really? That’s so sweet!”
Bing. “Really?” translates to “That’s a great story.”
When I tell mom about the new toy I bought for my cat, she never asks, “Really?” She doesn’t press me for details. She probably can’t wait for me to shut up so she can hang up the phone and do something productive that doesn’t involve listening to my escapades with my cat. But when I’ve hit on something that might actually warrant an article, her reaction won’t be a simple “Mmm-hmm,” or “That’s great.” It’ll be a question, or a plea to share more.
The reactions to listen for, in addition to “Really?” are:
-Then what happened?
-What did you do?
-How did you (/he/she) react?
-Tell me more!
-That’s amazing!
-That’s so cool!
A few weeks ago, I was talking to Jamie Blyth (I’m helping to write his book, Fear Is No Longer My Reality) about how far I’ve come in beating my anxiety disorder. One of the things I mentioned was that I used to have an obsessive-compulsive disorder related to food. He wanted to know more. I explained that I went through a two-year phase where I ate nothing but canned foods and other food with really long shelf lives.
“Really?” he asked.
Oh. I hadn’t thought about that phase of mine in quite some time, and had forgotten that it might be intriguing to people who’ve never experienced OCD. OCD as an overall topic has been done many times, but this detail—the canned foods and my almost deadly diet—hasn’t. It doesn’t belong in a how-to article. It works because of the telling, because of the personal nature of the story. And as I sat down to write it, a beautifully marketable essay formed almost effortlessly.
Think about what details of your story set it apart from similar stories. Countless essays have been written about alcoholism, eating disorders, miscarriage, drug abuse, abusive marriages, finding God, giving birth… that doesn’t mean you can’t tell your story. You just have to find a unique angle, a new way of telling it, a nugget that people will remember.
The same effortless type of story formed when I told people how Anthony and I bought our house. We fell so in love with it that we kept coming to visit and take pictures—we would sit on the other side of the lake, facing the owners’ backyard, and just hug and dream of what it would be like to live there.
When it came time to make an offer, we were immediately outbid by thousands of dollars and couldn’t match the price. We went to say goodbye to the owners, and they told the Realtor to take it off the market—we were the people they wanted to live in the home they’d loved for 40 years. They had seen us from their back window all the times we came to admire the house from afar, and they knew we would appreciate the gardens, the greenhouse, the lake. So they took a loss of thousands of dollars because they wanted us to live our dream.
Quick, what was your reaction to that story? I hope it was “That’s amazing!,” because that’s the reaction I got from nearly everyone who heard the story. Within a couple of weeks of moving in, I sold the essay to A Cup of Comfort and sent the anthology to the previous owners of the house.
If someone’s eyes light up when you tell a story, chances are excellent that there’s a market for it. If one person finds it interesting, inspiring, hilarious, or moving, others likely will, too.
Consider your friends and family your test audience. Test out your experiences on them. If they don’t press you for more details, either the story isn’t there, or you need a more compelling way to tell it.
You can also test by e-mail; send a few friends a note about a recent experience of yours and see how many of them react to it. Note, too, how quickly they react. If they respond right after reading it, their interest levels are probably high. If they respond a week later and mention, “By the way, that was a nice story,” it likely didn’t pass the test.
Personal experiences don’t need to be earth-shattering to be worthy of print. They just need to be interesting, insightful, and emotion-provoking in almost any sense of the word. Your story may make someone happy, mad, upset, horrified, shocked … as long as you can elicit a strong emotion, you can draw readers. And editors like writers who can draw readers.
Go forth and share your experiences. Personal essays are wonderful gifts to share with the world. Really!