The Loney Art of Self Promotion

People have wondered, asked, and occasionally assumed that the stress, trepidation, and seeping ooze of anxiety I experience when putting my work out into the world has to do with the scrutiny that follows. “Are you worried about what people will think?”

Unusual as it may seem, I'm not. I know that when someone reads, watches, listens, or engages with something I've created, opinions will naturally form and surface, whether I like them or not. I put my work forth knowing that I have thrown absolutely everything that I had at the time into its creation. Whether or not someone enjoys what I created, is completely subjective and entirely out of my hands.

So, what does put knots in my neck, wake me up in the middle of the night, produce ludicrous narratives in my head and tremors in the pit of stomach? Trying to get people to even pay attention to my work to begin with a.k.a. self-promotion.

Artwork in background “Dread” by Dan De Nardis

Self-promotion is being the kid who brought a magic rock to show and tell, the kid who knows for certain that the rock is magic but that the magic only works when you're alone with it and trying to convince a room full of your snickering peers that they would see it too if they just tried.

Self-promotion is sending out the pretty invitations to your party, then spending every day in its lead-up haunted by visions of being by yourself in your fiercest outfit, listening to your own playlist while eating your own artfully arranged crudité platter.

Self-promotion is entering an overcrowded room where everyone is already in the midst of loud conversation, if not full-on arguments, and stepping up onto a pedestal, not because you want to but because you were told that was the thing to do. It's trying to draw everyone's eyeballs toward that pedestal, while ignoring all the whispers of “What makes her think she's special enough to be on that pedestal?” You want to shout that it wasn't your idea, that it's not about you, but the same voices that told you to get up on that pedestal also said never talk yourself down, never sell yourself short. They told you that letting even a hint of self-doubt slip into your sales spiel was a slippery slope to abject failure. We are what we manifest, right?

Chances are, when you see anyone you know up on that pedestal shouting out “Look I made a thing!” they're feeling the same way. They're experiencing the rising nausea, fighting through the fumbles in speech and sudden pauses in thought. They're so worried about that last thing they just said that they have no idea what they're saying now. Is there spinach in my teeth? Wait, when was the last time I even ate spinach?

They need your help.

Attend their gallery openings. See their plays. Read their books. Go to their gigs. Get tickets to their films. Buy their unique creations.

Maybe, like many people I know, you're thinking “I want to, but I don't have the time or the money for all that.” Then use the systems that bring art so readily into your life, to elevate the artists that are so often left behind by them. It takes fifty reviews before Amazon will start recommending a book to likely readers. It takes one thousand streams on Spotify before a musician can start to earn the fractions of a cent they get per play. Every streaming service you have doesn't just recommend what you might like, it recommends the already most watched and highest rated of what you might like.

Write the reviews. Play the songs. Dig three or four layers deep into your steaming menus. I guarantee you there are diamonds in that rough. Hit like. Write a comment even if it's just to increase their number. Tell everyone you know who might like what you've discovered that it exists.

To the person on that pedestal, it all feels like getting a “Good Job” sticker from your favourite teacher. It helps them to forget their nerves and remember why they were so excited to create the thing in the first place. It brings the fun back into show and tell. It fills that party with joy and laughter. It makes that pedestal a lot less lonely.

Artwork in background “Dread” by Dan De Nardis

Interview - Writing, Filmmaking and the Delights of Science Fiction

I recently had the privilege of chatting with Simon Foster, the Director of Sydney Science Fiction Film Festival. I had a chance to talk about The Phoenix Effect book series and answer some frequently asked questions about the story, the world and the inspiration that brought it into being.

I also had the chance to talk about filmmaking, world building, genre blending and the drive to create. In other words, topics I love and could blab about endlessly. Fortunately, I managed to keep it under half an hour. Check out the interview!

Watch Margaret's YouTube Interview with Simon Foster of the Sydney Science Fiction Film Festival

Don't go around saluting General Knowledge

I recently had two university students studying screen media (what in my day was called “film school”) reach out regarding an assignment they had to interview, via e-mail, someone currently working in the film industry. Of course I was happy to help – knowledge is power, share the wealth, pay it forward, empower youth, big-up each other, strengthen the future, and all that. What I got back from both of them turned out to be some rather dry, disappointing, and totally uninspiring questions that were obviously forced upon them by their professor. This was their “interview”:

1. What do you think are top three trends I should know about?

2. Technology is changing the way we work – what’s the top one or two emerging technologies do you think I should keep abreast of?

3. How do you stay ahead of the game in your role and in this competitive industry?

4. What’s your greatest achievement in your career so far and why? And what was your greatest failure/greatest regret, and what did you learn from it?

5. What are the top three tips you would give to your young self, now that you know what you know about working in this industry?

After getting over the initial anger those questions inspired, (picking that apart is another blog post altogether) I found myself short of time, not at all compelled to answer any of those questions, but still wanting to offer whatever help I could. Here is how I responded:

While I do believe it’s important to keep informed about trends, new technologies, and other advancements and shifts in the film industry, I prioritize focusing on storytelling, creativity, reaching an audience and pursuing projects and filmmaking experiments I’m passionate about. To me, pulling too much focus to “staying ahead” or weighing your work as either failure or success, is a formula for rapid burnout. This industry is already a constant hustle without the added pressure of measuring yourself or your work against others or worrying about if it’s on the leading edge of anything, be it a passing trend or a seismic shift in the industry. 

The greatest creators of films past and present, those responsible for changing the very landscape of filmmaking with their work, all followed their own paths. Figure out what path excites you, pursue it armed with both knowledge and passion, never measure your work against someone else's goalpost, and don’t be afraid to forge a new path if one calls to you. 

I wondered if I sounded bitter (a definite consequence of working in the industry that I didn't elaborate on). I wondered if I sounded Pollyannaish about being an artiste in an industry that was ostensibly established as, and still functions as, a profit-making business. But the more I mused upon my responses the more I thought... nah, I'm right.

Had their professor suggested that someone who wanted to pursue cinematography or post-production ask a professional in that area how new technologies were changing the way they work, and how they imagined those technologies affecting the future of their roles, that would have made sense. Had their professor suggested that someone who wanted to produce ask a professional producer how trends were affecting audiences’ relationships with media, and where they saw people turning for entertainment in the future, that would have made sense. There was nothing inherently wrong with the knowledge sought in either of those first two questions, but through the act of generalizing the question, it instilled them with an inflated sense of importance. “These things matter all the time to everyone!” as opposed to “These things are important some of the time, to some of the people, depending on what you do, depending on the specifics of your project, depending on when you make it, where you make it, who you make it with, and the occasional unforeseeable global crisis.”

As for the next two questions… *shudder*

I'll refrain from the colourful language that comes to mind when someone calls the profession that I, and everyone else I know, is clawing their way through with every ounce of stamina in their bodies and every thinning thread of their sanity, a “game”. Just try taking that question and applying it to any other profession—any profession at all. How many of them would find it insulting? How many of them would laugh? How many of them would shrug? How many of them would wonder what in the hell “the game” was, how long they had been playing it, and why no one had ever explained the rules? I'd call that question a prime example of generalizing to the point of meaninglessness.

You don't have to have read every book in the self-help sections to know how damaging the words, “failure” and “regret” are. The more you focus on either of these vague notions—for that is what they are, concepts not facts—the more your motivation gets forever lost in a cloud of fear. The concept of success is equally foggy. Did you make something that you thought was meh but that audiences loved, and which racked up awards? Success! Did you make something that got no audience praise and no recognition of any kind, but was absolutely everything you envisioned? Success! We all define this notion differently, and its meaning ought to grow and change and evolve alongside us. Every time you make a thing you get better at making the thing. Success is the passenger in the sidecar of your journey. Occasionally it will be joyfully singing into the wind. Occasionally it'll get motion sickness. But as long as you're paying attention to the road, it'll come along for the ride.

As for the last question, once I put aside how I felt about the belittling nature of the word “tips” (not quite as colourfully as I felt about “game” though with a rosy tint of aggravation) I realized that I do have three pieces of advice I can extend based on my experience. Those, however, will have to wait for another blog post, or perhaps an opportunity to answer them in person, colourful language optional.

I Think in Floorplan

I don't know if this is because I'm a visual thinker, or because I vividly remember watching my mom design what was probably the floorplan of the house that I grew up in and being so charmed by those little scale templates she used to add toilets and sofas to the drawing, but when I need to wrap my head around something, I think in flooorplan. This is my go-to method for everything from figuring out the obvious, like will that sofa fit in my apartment, to writing an ensemble of characters that are all engaged in action at the same time. Where is everybody and what are they doing at this crucial moment of the story? I know, I'll draw a plan and move their little pieces around until I figure it out.

I also spend a fair amount of time confabulating floorplans in my head - the ideal layout of my reasonably sized Italian villa, the cozy quarters I occupy during my space mission, the likely layout of my neighbour’s apartment based on the brief glimpse I caught through their door. Odds are, once I've been inside your house I'll remember its floorplan. Want to know if you you've got enough space to add that powder room? Just ask me.

Growing up, I also found myself mind-constructing the floorplans of my favourite sit-com sets. It didn't matter that studio sets utilize wall angles that no contractor would choose to build, have doors conveniently pop-up when they suddenly need to set a scene in the basement, and put closets where no closet belongs. I could still finish off that fourth wall and plunk that set in the building or on the street of its mythical origin. While this was clearly a precursor to my interest in production design, I recently realized that it was also a sign of my passion for storytelling.

A while back, after a rather spirit crushing professional disappointment during what felt like a few years of said disappointments, I was comfort watching Friday Night Dinner. The series, which sits high on my recommend list if you've never seen it, was filmed inside a real house. So naturally, I was obsessing over the locations of each door and window and laying out the rarely seen rooms upstairs in relation to the rooms below. While I was debating about the location of a potential second bathroom it suddenly hit me... I'm making this real!

By mind-constructing the environments of the stories that I love, I am creating a tangible reality in which me and those stories exist together. This is a house I can visit. These are people I can have dinner with. It doesn't matter how realistic these story worlds were, as soon as I started building them in my mind, from sit-com sets to fantasy castles, I was making them a reality. That is what drew me to design and ultimately into storytelling, an overwhelming instinct to construct a world of my choosing.

We all use books and movies as a means to escape into other worlds. I see the fact that me and my floorplany brain still choose to construct these words, as a testament to power of storytelling. As an adult, I can escape my woes in any number of ways. I can vent to a friend, sing-scream profanities in the shower, and pour myself a generous glass of wine, all of which I had already done. But what I really needed more than any of that, was spend Friday night at the Goodman residence. I needed to walk through the front door, smell what was cooking, take a seat on the lounge and wait for hijinks to commence.

I, like many storytellers, have occasion to question the “reason” for my work. In a world rife with more problems than I currently have the capacity to floorplan my head around, I often feel like I'm not doing enough. Maybe I'm entertaining, maybe I'm provoking thought, I might even been encouraging someone else to action... but is that enough? These moments in which I realize how much influence the stories I love still have over me, serve as reminders that a great story well told is powerful.

So, the next time you find yourself wondering about the “reason” for your story, write it for the anxiety ridden, caffeine addled, woman who is stuck in a sticky pool of self-doubt. Get her to put down her phone and start mindstructing your world. Ease the tension in her shoulders. Make her smile. That is enough.