Issue #6
September 24, 2023

Dear friends,

Last weekend I had a gleefully surreal experience: I went through a tunnel.

Sounds basic, right? Stick with me.

A group of seven friends rode our mountain bikes along the western end of the Palouse to Cascades Trail – a 250-mile path that traverses Washington State on a former railway line, from evergreen forests to rolling grasslands. We crossed soaring trestles over mountain gorges, pedaling 21 miles up a gentle grade of hard-packed gravel, then back down the way we came.

A little before our turnaround point at the Hyak Sno-Park, we arrived at the tunnel: 2.3 miles of ink-black darkness through rocky mountainside. Built in 1912 and last used by a train in 1980, the Snoqualmie Tunnel is the longest train tunnel on any recreational trail in the United States.

We put on sweaters, strapped headlamps to our helmets, and rode in. The ground was hard dirt, dotted with potholes and puddles. Water dripped from the walls and ceiling. Westerly winds sucked into the tunnel’s narrow aperture whooshed us along. Pinholes of light bobbed in the dark, signaling the locations of other bikers and hikers. One dot of light slowly grew larger, until it became the exit and disgorged us back into the sunny day.

It was the closest experience I’ve ever had to being a bat.

It got me thinking about sources of delight, and how we enjoy things that are just off kilter enough to defy subconscious expectation. Bicycling in the dark amplified the feel of the air on my face, and gave my brain something new to do: avoid a crash despite the lack of visual perspective. Brains like a little challenge. (That’s why, when we’re reading, we don’t like things to be over-explained.)

I think we’ve all had these wonderful moments of something being “off.” Some more of mine:

Seeing clouds below me from a mountaintop in Peru. Having my eyes tricked by the “moon illusion,” the phenomenon that makes the moon look massive when it’s at horizon level. Scuba diving at night in a bioluminescent sea in Papua New Guinea (an episode I wrote about in Wanderlust).

These experiences happen in the man-made world too, like when I enter a building that challenges my belief in flat walls – hello Antonio Gaudí, Frank Gehry, and Zaha Hadid.

At this very moment, I’m tempted to buy a genetically engineered, glow-in-the-dark petunia. Because petunias aren’t supposed to glow in the dark. And when I say they aren’t supposed to, I mean that like all these occurrences, they flout the expectations of my category-loving brain.

I was anxious about the bike excursion before it started, at a trailhead just 45 minutes from my home. So much gravel, such a long incline, so much darkness. But it turned out to be a thrill. I took this as a reminder to keep looking for the strange in my immediate world.

Have you recently discovered anything wonderfully weird?

To learn more about the Palouse to Cascades Trail – and the larger project of turning old railways into recreational trails – read this recent piece in Crosscut.

Welcome to the Blurbocalypse

Authors are fed up with blurbs – again.

Blurbs are the endorsements that appear on book jackets, usually from other authors, attesting to the greatness of the work inside. They may or may not encourage readers to buy books. But they definitely eat up time and cause stress for nearly everyone in publishing, and reinforce a wildly unfair hierarchy.

In that zeitgeisty way, not one but two in-depth articles from the last month explain and explore the blurb phenomenon. A source in Helen Lewis’ piece in The Atlantic says we’re in a blurb “arms race,” while a source in Sophie Vershbow’s story in Esquire calls blurbs “a plague.”

If you don’t work in publishing, you may wonder what could be so apocalyptic about trying to get a nice little comment or two. Those articles both offer deep dives. But in short, the problem is that authors (or their editors and agents) have to ask people to write them. And those asked often feel obligated to produce them, even though the labor of reading an entire book and then writing something thoughtful and glowing about it, which will be shared widely and could affect your own reputation, goes unpaid.

The hardcover of my first book, Bare, was published before the current wave of blurb-mania became widespread, and then when the paperback came out, we used quotes from published reviews on the jacket. For my second book, Wanderlust, my most sensible blurb-seeking experience went like this:

Me: Hey, Prominent Travel Writer With Whom I’m Friendly, could I send you my galley so that you could possibly write me a blurb in time for us to print it on the back cover?

PTWWWIF: I’d love to help. Like most normal mid-career professionals, I’m pretty busy. How about I read the first several chapters to make sure I like it. Assuming I do, I’ll ask you to write the first draft of the blurb. Then I’ll tweak it to make sure it fits my voice.

Me: Terrific.

And thus a blurb was born. Think that sounds sketchy? Novelist Gary Shteyngart famously elevated blurbing to a kind of satirical performance art, writing effusive blurbs for anyone who asked, with no pretense of having read the books. But in 2014, he announced that he was stopping, and would only henceforth make a few exceptions, such as for authors who own long-haired dachshunds.

The problem is that while everyone in the industry finds the institution of blurbing annoying, few individual authors feel like they can bow out. Only the most confidently bestselling seem able to abdicate entirely – and are arguably forced to abdicate, for their inability to keep up with blurb requests.

My publisher had also sent the Wanderlust galley to an Extremely Prominent Travel Writer. The EPTW sent me a note of enthusiastic praise – I swooned – but said they tried not to blurb anymore, particularly after having published a long essay mocking the practice.

The Atlantic piece made me think (hopefully?) that the whole blurb ecosystem might soon collapse under the weight of nepotism and exhaustion. But the Esquire story forced me to conclude that blurbs are probably not going anywhere. That’s because, regardless of what effect they have on readers – which I’m guessing is not much – they help publishers sell books to retailers, get media coverage, and generate hype within the industry, all of which influences sales.

This is, of course, quite terrifying. Says the author with a novel coming out in nine months. Wish me luck.

Do blurbs influence what books you buy?

Five Faves: Newsletters for Writers

Advice-packed newsletters for writers at all career stages. They offer free and paid versions:

SubMakk by Rebecca Makkai. The four-time novelist and short story writer fluidly and entertainingly explains craft. Recent issues have focused on how to name characters and why it’s hard to sell a story collection.

Courtney Maum’s Before and After the Book Deal. The five-time author of fiction, how-to, and memoir gives extensive advice on navigating the publishing world, including concrete guidance on book proposals and querying.

Today You Will Write by TaraShea Nesbit. Deep encouragement and deep craft (and what else do you need?) from a two-time novelist and writing professor.

The Wordling by Natasha Khullar Relph. A meaty, deeply informed, essential read on trends in publishing and bookselling.

Millennial Writer Life by Prince Shakur. Practical tips on career and craft from a recent debut author. Lots of video and audio content in addition to the prose. Past topics include getting into residencies, finding an agent, and finding your voice as a memoirist.

Of course, there are more! I chose the five above because in addition to offering excellent advice, they come out on very regular schedules. Some others I enjoy include those by memoirist and writing coach Ruthie Ackerman, novelist and essayist Alexander Chee, and memoirist Nicole Chung.

Do you have any favorite newsletters for writers?

At the Hyak Sno-Park near Snoqualmie Pass, Washington, USA, September 16, 2023. Photo by Joe Ray.

Let’s Talk

Write to me at eavesdrop@elisabetheaves.com. I read every email, and I’ll try to answer every question.

Happy trails,
Elisabeth