Around eighty percent of nonfiction books today are written by “experts,” that is people who have a) earned credentials in field they’re writing about, b) germinated information via articles, live presentations or other media, or c) had extraordinary, unique or memorably told life experiences relevant to their topic.

For an autobiographical work, such as a memoir, an author needn’t have any special expertise—she is foremost authority on her own life. For a how-to or self-help book, however, first thing mainstream publishers want to know is, “Does author have a platform?”

Among multiple definitions of “platform” in Merriam Webster’s 10th edition are 1) a place from which to speak, 2) a set of principles, and 3) a vehicle for carrying things. All these are important to an author’s platform. The good news is, in six to eighteen months it will take most authors to write either their book proposal or their entire book, they can develop a platform.

Here are some things editors look for in a platform:

- publications in field demonstrating your expertise - a mailing list - pamphlets, tapes or other media carrying messages related to those in your book - teaching or leading experience on topic of your book - a column - a unique point of view with demonstrable appeal - regular speaking engagements - courses taught at a local venue - a well-designed website

The section of nonfiction proposal entitled Author’s Bio or Author’s Credentials details information about author’s platform. Many aspiring authors I work with, at least initially, grossly underrepresent themselves in this section.

SOLUTION 1: WORK WITH WHAT YOU HAVE—THEN SWITCH HATS! Assume that you probably already have more of a platform than you know. Instead of beginning by writing your bio in paragraph form, put on your Scribe hat and make a list—yes, that’s right, a long, tedious, unsexy list—of everything you’ve done that seems even remotely related to your book.

By Jill Nagle

Arrogance has a bad rap. We think of arrogant people as unpleasant to be around, full of themselves, and incapable of taking an interest in anyone else. However, when applied to one’s own writing, a certain measure of well-placed arrogance can be a useful tool.

Writing can be a scary enterprise. The writer puts herself out for public scrutiny in a way most other artists and professionals do not. When writer publishes, she commits herself to words she’s written for rest of her life. Even if she changes her mind about what she’s said, others may still react to piece decades after it first appears in print. This can make even act of putting pen to paper (or more likely, fingers to keyboard) an anxiety-producing ordeal.

Then there is schooling most of us received, which treated writing as a chore rewarded when well done or punished when poorly done, as opposed to a pleasurable activity for ourselves and our readers. Very few of us had any audience for any writing we did in classrooms, other than teachers who instructed, criticized and graded us. It’s no wonder most writers suffer from self-doubt rather than overconfidence. We tend to underestimate ourselves and our words, even when they come from most powerful places inside us, even when we get accolades from outside world, and even long after we finally get published.

Practicing selective arrogance can help disarm these nasty doubts. And, not to worry: If you are not arrogant to begin with, practicing type of arrogance I suggest will not transform you into an insufferable braggart. Rather, it will help uplift you from gutters of self-doubt onto clean, dry road to getting published. Even if you do not feel in least arrogant about your writing, you can still follow my simple instructions to act as if you do, with same results: to get published, or to get published again.

Selective arrogance does not mean thinking of yourself as any better than anyone else, or as having reached pinnacle of your skills. Rather, it means treating every word you write as a precious baby worthy of greatest care and nurturance. Here’s how to do that:

Never, ever throw anything away, period.

Carry with you at all times a means to record your creative thoughts.

Record your creative bursts, even if other voices inside you are dismissing them with negative judgments.

Trust your impulses and passions: if you feel drawn to write about something, write about it!

Eschew impatience-give your babies time they need to gestate. If you’ve read between lines, you see that these instructions have you do nothing more than treat yourself and your writing with respect. However, because many people have a hard time doing even that, I counsel my clients to behave arrogantly. It gets them giggling and releasing feelings they have about their writing, and makes it easier to find that respect.