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Writing The Things You Think You Cannot Say

The inaugural Understory Writers Conference was held last month in Park City, Utah under the sparkling leadership of Annie Tucker. I presented four workshops, including The Book Architecture Method, Meditation for Writers, Editing and Self-Editing…and honestly would like to do it again next week.

But the best one—either because it is the newest, or because it is the topic I am so engaged with right now because of my own book, or because it was the juiciest/most revelatory—was: Writing the Things You Think You Cannot Say. (Which could have been called Dealing With Unspeakable Material In Your Memoir and The People Who Don’t Want You To Speak It.)

After the conference, a number of attendees reached out to express their chagrin they had missed that particular session. And so we are going to put it on again, live on Zoom, on October 14th at 10am Pacific.

In this 60 minute session, we will cover:

  • The gory, vengeful first draft
  • A process to determine what you need as opposed to being guided solely by righteous indignation
  • Libel
  • People you still want to have Thanksgiving with
  • Karma

You know if you need to be there. The cost is free. Email me here so we can make sure you get all the details.

The BA Band: Nick Mullendore

Madison Utley speaks to Nick Mullendore, the agent responsible for getting Amnesty Day out into the world. Nick is the founder and president of the Vertical Ink Agency, which he established in 2016, and he is also a co-owner and the managing partner of Loretta Barrett Books.

MU: To start, let’s talk about how you took Stuart’s project on and then helped him reshape it into something you thought would sell. How did you develop that hands-on approach?

NM: I started working at an agency in 1998, Loretta Barrett Books. Loretta Barrett, the founder, was very hands-on. She had been an editor and publisher herself for many, many years, so she did a lot of development. I learned from her to put in the work to make something as strong as it can possibly be before shipping it off to publishers–and the need to do that has only become more essential over the years as the industry has expanded and the competition has intensified.

MU: Stuart’s project came to you in 2022 and sold in 2025. What sustained your efforts to get it into the right hands throughout that time? 

NM: I don’t take things on unless I believe in them, unless I feel a connection to them, I feel that I understand them, I think they have merit. Amnesty Day was certainly all of those things. It was a very strong concept from a very high-level writer with a platform and lots of ways to promote. It has so many elements I expect people to gravitate toward, and I really do think it’s a book that will start conversations about different ways to approach parenting and family dynamics. 

I believed that eventually we’d find somebody that would get it and see what we saw in it–and we are grateful that we did. It was one of the bigger shocks in recent years for me that somebody didn’t jump on this much sooner. But it came down to having confidence in my taste and my vision, along with my author’s work and vision, and in what the book can and should do when it’s published.

MU: Earlier you alluded to changes in the publishing industry you’ve witnessed over your time as an agent. Can you expound on that?

NM: It’s very hard to get a [nonfiction] book published right now–and it’s just getting harder and harder. All of the resources are going to celebrities and big platform authors that have TikToks or podcasts or television shows. If you don’t have that, publishers aren’t giving you a chance very often anymore. That’s just the truth. 

Developing a platform has pretty much become the most important thing – for nonfiction especially, but even for fiction writers, a platform of some sort is a big advantage over most other novelists. Authors hate to hear they have to do it. Everybody wants it to be about the purity of the writing and the art. And it is about that, but it is also about learning the business of publishing, and right now, that means being creative about how you can develop your own platform and profile. If you’re not sure where to start, look to develop community: join writers groups, become active in the literature scene wherever you are, get out there and meet people who are also writing and networking. Becoming savvy about how publishing works is a real leg up for any author who is serious about trying to do this for a living.  

MU: Is there anything specific you’re hoping comes across your desk sometime soon, manuscript wise? 

NM: No. I’m interested in a lot of different things because a lot of different things are interesting. But generally, I do much more nonfiction than fiction because it’s more quantifiable. With fiction, you’re just at the whim of personal taste so often. With nonfiction, you know where to go and how to present it. With a strong proposal and a few sample chapters, you can sell a project rather than needing to have a whole novel written. 

Also my own taste has come more to the fore in my agency, Vertical Ink, which is a little more punk rock, a little edgier than what I typically worked on at Loretta Barrett Books. So now I’m guided both by what I already knew how to do well as I gained experience in the industry along with where my personal taste takes me.




 

Clients Crushin’ It: Vibha Akkaraju

Madison Utley speaks to Vibha Akkaraju following the completion of her memoir, Like Ketchup on Roti. The two discuss the importance of getting out of your own way as a writer, how to sustain motivation over a years-long writing process, and the importance of finding the right people to be part of your support crew.

Q:​ To start, can you give me a high-level overview of your writing history? 

A: ​I did a bachelor’s and a master’s in English literature. I liked writing, and dabbled in journalism for a bit, but I never wrote with any consistency. Right out of school, I had to get a job that could make a living. For me that was technical writing, but I didn’t find any satisfaction in my career. Luckily, I was able to quit my job after our first kid was born.

It was in 2016 that I walked into a prompt-based writing workshop led by Beth Dunnington. I was terrified. All my writing in college had been super structured, but this workshop was the opposite, designed to eliminate fear and hesitancy. You’re given a bunch of prompts. You write, write, write–by hand. It’s timed, like a sprint, and the focus is on moving forward. The editor in you has to take a back seat. I found that approach blew open the world of writing for me. All of the second guessing we can slip into when we’re writing, the perfecting the first sentence before moving onto the second, is counterproductive. Allowing my thoughts to flow instead was transformative. I didn’t know I was writing a book. Beth was the one who saw a theme in my work and asked me about it. I was like, “A book? That’s a four letter word. No!” I held that stance for a couple more years. 

Q: ​When and why did that change? 

A: ​The stories I was drawn to were stories about my family–stories of immigration and shifting identities and our varying responses to our move from India to the US. Eventually I realized maybe Beth was right and there was a book here. But I was completely lost in the woods. I had all these stories but I couldn’t really see the arc. People gave me feedback on individual, small pieces but I needed somebody to look at the whole thing, the big overview. I didn’t have the confidence or, frankly, the expertise to self diagnose the problem or the solution. 

While I was conflicted and doubtful about sharing my story at times, I believed it was important to tell an immigration story that wasn’t necessarily born of major trauma in the classic sense. Our story was not one of migrants who come across a border and really suffer. We were quite blessed actually. Yet still, changing countries at a preadolescent age when you’re very tender and vulnerable was hard. That was something I wanted to write about. I thought about Chimamanda Adichie’s talk about the importance of many stories. She says each kind of story–an immigrant story, a love story, a coming of age story–should be told from many different angles. No one point of view is enough. 

Q: ​It sounds like in order to finish the memoir, you had to do some real soul searching to put words to how you understand your own narrative in your heart and mind? 

 A:​ Yeah, as an immigrant, in the beginning, you’re just in survival mode. I was sent to school here four days after we landed knowing maybe 50 words of English. So the first few years, you’re just trying to learn the spoken language, the body language, the culture, the music, the clothing, the food. Only later do you realize that this first level of assimilation has gotten relatively easy. I moved here in 1982, and 40 plus years later, I’m still grappling with what it means to be an Indian-American parent and what it means for my kids to be Indian-American. How do we navigate this bicultural identity? What do we hold onto? What do we let go of? Questions of identity can be complicated–but writing clarifies, right? And luckily, I found these big questions interesting. Interesting enough to sustain my motivation for many years. 

Q: ​Other than that internal drive to answer the big questions pressing on you, what else sustained your motivation over the course of so many years? 

A: ​I was very fortunate to be surrounded by people who really believed in the project; my husband and my family urged me onward when I started to falter. I also write with a group of talented writers under a gifted teacher named Eanlai Cronin. It’s a weekly dose of inspiration and support. A book is such a long-haul project, I felt I needed to work in community with others. Still, it wasn’t always a smooth road. I would sometimes get overwhelmed and despirited. I realize now looking back that the periods of doubt and low-motivation for this project were directly tied to a lack of direction.  

When I saw Stuart give a talk at CWC here in Redwood City, I connected with his very clear method. At that point, I knew I needed to overlay a method onto the madness of my writing process. I gave him my first 10 pages and I loved what he had to say. He was super smart and understood what I was trying to do. His feedback was thoughtful. He helped keep my focus on only the one step in front of me. That was it. Even now, he’s encouraging me to just submit the manuscript to agents and stop worrying about which publisher may or may not pick it up. This focus on the work helped quiet the overthinking and self doubt and spiraling I could fall into. Having a combination of somebody who really knew a structured path forward, somebody whose judgment I trusted, and who kept me focused on the work was invaluable. Once you get the momentum going, wonderful things happen. 

Q:​ What advice do you have for other writers who are in that first stage of feeling like they do have a book but feeling incredibly far from its finished state, unsure of how to bridge that gap?

A:​ Don’t be afraid of getting help. Whether it’s a book coach or a committed writing companion, an editor, whatever you need. I knew that if I didn’t finish this book, I would regret it for the rest of my life. I needed accountability. I needed a guiding hand. But I was afraid of getting help initially because I wanted to be able to claim this as 100% my own writing. It turns out that worry was completely misplaced. Stuart guided me in coming up with my own answers.  And I realized that everyone needs guidance, no matter what they are pursuing–be it sports, medicine, law, visual arts, whatever. It is wonderful to have somebody who becomes your partner in this incredible journey, somebody who’s done this trip many times before. 

​More than anything, though, have faith in yourself. When other people tell you that you’re a good writer, believe them. And make the investment in yourself that you’d encourage your kids or your best friend to make in themselves, whether that’s dedicated time or professional assistance. I read a book that really helped me, The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. He personifies internal resistance. The author says that when you declare, say, that you’re going to be working from 9 to 12 in the morning, initially people will push back. “What, no, I wanted to get a coffee with you then.” But soon they’ll learn this is sacred time. I actually did that and my loved ones really respected it and would never reach out to me during that window. Everybody falls in line–as soon as you prioritize yourself, they’ll start prioritizing you. It just takes a little discipline in the beginning.

What AI Means For Writers: We Have to Level Up

Originally appeared in Marguerite Richard’s newsletter, reposted with permission. 

My boys are already complaining about going to school. They want to stay home and play, or stare at the sky. Or at a laptop. They know I prefer the sky over the screen, and because I’m still their hero, they lovingly oblige (most of the time). But you do need to go to school, I tell them. Why? They need answers. You have to go to school so that you can be a superhero like mama. Especially if you want to be Spidey. After all, webbing up supervillains is difficult work requiring geometry, physics, and complex communication skills. When you’re three and six years old, this is an idea you can get on board with. At least the Spidey part is clear.

The following Saturday morning, my older one wants to play chess. I set up the board on the lower bed of his bunk, the rainbow rocket sheets firing off beneath us. I’m pleased he’s curious, I want to encourage him. I fall short, only remembering the basics. That’s when it dawns on me that learning a strategy game like this one is crucial for him now. Not because he’s 6. But because by the time he’s an adult, people will be getting by without needing any strategic thinking skills at all. My sons will grow up in a world where their thinking can be outsourced. And if they don’t learn how to think, and how to learn (deeply, critically, strategically, empathetically, collaboratively) right now, they will indeed miss their chance at the superhero jobs of the future, whatever those may be.

Is AI unethical? MOOT QUESTION.

Most conversations about AI in my circles are idling in the ethics debate. Some of my favourite publications and writers are broadcasting their rejection of AI all together. Seeking solidarity? Probably. Admirable? Definitely. Pointless? I am afraid so. Especially if you’re in creative industries that won’t influence (or slow down) the development of the tech, swearing against AI is about as effective as it would have been to declare you’d never buy a calculator because it might lead to the downfall of our civilisation.

A close friend of mine watched her very lucrative translation career disintegrate in the span of a year. She attended a major translator conference in Frankfurt a few weeks ago, pumped up to strategise with her peers on the problem. She came home with the same story: most folks were preaching on soap boxes about why we should not be using AI. Keep in mind that this is an industry that has long benefited from tech advancements—Trados released its first computer-assisted translation tool in the early 90’s.

Just yesterday I saw an advertisement for an AI tool made for anyone wanting to create a children’s book. Upload a photo of your child, choose the story type, and voila, a book featuring your own kid as the hero delivered right to your doorstep. I am at once fascinated and repulsed by this. I am worried for our society—no question. Still, there’s no way out of this. 

It’s time to get ahead of it. 

As for my career, it’s crystal-ball clear, I’m going to need to leapfrog this issue if I want to keep writing, editing, and book coaching. Formulating new books is my magic. In a one-hour interview with the author, the book structure begins to synthesise in my mind. It’s not a linear, calculated process. It’s entirely alchemical, driven by intuition and instinct during a very specific exchange between editor and author. At the end of that same meeting, when I pitch the newly birthed idea to the author, I feel like a stork dropping a baby book into the author’s arms, all the goosebumps, fear and excitement of a new life ahead. AI can’t rob that from me. Even if I use it to support me. I’m not worried. What’s really baking my noodle is that future readers may not even know the difference between my human-generated book and the AI-generated one. It’s probably already happening. We only have one play.

We have to level up.

Watching my translator friend’s story unfold, and keeping my kids’ future in mind, I’m trying to figure out how I can build my business by developing my human artistic prowess. To get there, I am convinced that I first need to understand what our human superpowers actually are. Until now, I hadn’t realised I was in competition with my tools. What I’m learning is that it’s not the creation itself I should look at, but the process of creation that sets us apart from the tools. Human processing is labor intensive and full of pitfalls and imperfections. These mistakes often lead to a final result that is more beautiful than the symmetrical, synthetic output that the AI would create. Writing a book can be one of the most enriching experiences of your life. Ask any author—it’s the process, not the book itself.

It’s the toil that makes the treasure. 

The other day I met a friend wearing a designer shirt that looked like it had been scribbled on with a black felt-tip pen. It was messy. Human. An expensive, beautifully designed mess. It was special because the human mind is subjective, spontaneous. A machine could never spontaneously create something so surprising for both the wearer and those appreciating what he wore. The machine could never be part of the exchange that he and I had over the shirt. My surprise and his appreciation for my surprise. The machine could never learn from our exchange either. Unless we trained it.

If making unique connections in our own minds (and between multiple minds) is one of our superpowers, we can’t start letting the AI make those connections for us. Take brainstorming, for example. The brainstorming act is a creative human process. If you consistently ask your tool to perform the ideation for you, not only will it soon outperform you, but you will eventually be stripped of the ability to do it yourself. If you don’t use it, you lose it. And isn’t that kind of ah-ha moment also one of our greatest human pleasures? It’s like making music. Why would we want to give that up?

So how do we leverage AI to support growing these superpowers instead of doing them for us? I’m not sure, but I hope that becoming more aware of what makes human nature special is a start.

Is there actually anything to fear?

The fear conversation leads down dark tunnels. It’s natural for the human mind to explore exponential what-if dystopias. As always, there are optimists and there are pessimists. In his interview with Wired Magazine, author, scholar (and pacifist) Yuval Noah Harari, likened the birth of a superintelligence to inventing the railroad.

“In a laboratory, people were able to see if steam engines would explode due to a malfunction,” Harari said. “But no one could simulate the changes they would bring to the economic and political situation when the rail network spread out over tens of thousands of kilometers.” We just don’t know. And we won’t know until we get there.

In my view, we are moving too fast. Much of society in the developed world is largely built on competition. Our drive to outperform each other without slowing down to consider proper regulation will lead us into territory beyond our control. We don’t actually know what the superintelligence will be capable of. And if we could adamantly regulate developments and create transparency measures so that we could use it in favour of globally agreed upon endeavours, we could potentially solve so many problems with it. Unfortunately, I’m not sure humans trust each other enough to get there. How can we fall short on something so basic?

It starts with the kids

These are some dark feelings. If you know me, I’m not dark. Here’s my plan for now. I’ll inspire my boys toward life-long learning. Teach them teamwork and relationships. Teach them trust. Foster an appreciation for nature. Get them out of the city. Teach them how to work with their hands. I suppose that means I’ll have to learn how to use my hands, too. That, and chess.