Writer Maris Kreizman on offering and asking for help

You’ve published one book before, Slaughterhouse 90210, and your follow-up has been long awaited. Why was now the right time for I Want to Burn This Place Down?

Now is the right time because I’ve had a lot of opportunities to reflect on so many of the goals that I always seem to be striving for, that I don’t want to achieve anymore. It’s really about all of the broken systems that I thought were working for me and for others, and all of the liberal myths I held onto like facts.

Why don’t you want to achieve those goals?

My ambition essay came out during COVID. I was freelance writing and trying to get a job in digital media, which, as you know, can be very difficult. COVID had laid bare all our systemic problems that we were just kind of shoving aside. Everything from racism in the industry, to sexism, and even just the idea that if you work really hard, there will be rewards—which is just not always the case.

I feel like things are worse now. Do you think that’s fair to say?

I thought that when this book came out, I would be critiquing the left while the left was in power. Things have really changed since then. When Trump was elected, we kind of had to go back and think about how these essays would hit in this time.

Was there anything you changed then, based on that?

I didn’t change a thing. But I hadn’t considered that my frustration with the Democrats would be reflected in this past election. So it became more a book about standing for something. Standing for health equity for all, or for doing something to prevent global warming, or for any number of things [where] I think we’ve been in an in-between place for a long time.

How do you put blinders on to get down to work? How do you critique things that some people might assume don’t matter in the long run?

I think that’s one of the biggest problems of my lifetime: the devaluation of the things that I love and care about the most. Even in book publishing, there are so many problems. But the thing that I always come back to with books is that there’s always a new book I want to read, so something is going right in this terrible process. That’s always been my year-end philosophy: things have been shitty, but there have been some really good books, and isn’t that something?

Tell me about the process of the book, from idea to proposal to writing to publication.

After that essay about ambition went semi-viral, I thought I should write a book about all of the things that I no longer feel ambitious about. That very quickly evolved into, “Let me just write about all the shit that pisses me off.” And again, that could be endless, so I needed to put some sort of structure on it. I was very lucky to work with my agent, Sarah Burnes, who helped me narrow it down to a few of the topics that I was really hoping to tackle. As I worked on it, it did become clear that the book was about liberalism and my discontents with that, because, once again, if you get into conservatism and the current state of America, we could talk for ages. But it really became about speaking up for the people who get more progressive as we age, because I think the media likes to say that everyone gets more conservative.

I sold the book on proposal but with a detailed outline of what I wanted to write. And then the scariest part was getting that book deal and having to start actually going and writing them all. Of course, that was ultimately the most rewarding thing. To be perfectly honest, one of the great reliefs about publishing this book was that I had a couple of years to work on it—[although] not the money for a couple of years—and therefore didn’t have to apply for jobs. Because there aren’t that many out there, and freelance writing is an industry in which there have been no raises since the beginning of time. I wish I could be one of those writers who just loves every moment of sitting down and doing the thing.

What does your writing process look like, if you don’t enjoy sitting down at the desk and getting the words out?

One of the most helpful things I realized is that trying to do more than about two hours in a day is just never going to work for me. So I went to a writing space and sat there from 8 to 10 just about every morning, and that was the perfect way to start the day. I couldn’t believe that I was a morning person. I always thought that everything interesting happened at night, and then all of a sudden, I could only have a clear head at 7:30 AM.

It kind of reminds me of a quote from the book: “I’m a childless writer who is often selfish, but not in the good optimized art-making way.” Does that make you feel guilty at all?

It did. It did. I have this essay in the book about how the choice used to be whether you’re going to be a mother or a careerist. And then the question became, in the past 10 years or so, do you want to be a mother or an art monster? And feeling like those are the only two worthy things. In writing this book, it was nice to acknowledge that my path doesn’t look similar to a lot of people I know and that it’s okay to have different goals.

How has the publishing industry changed over two decades? Or, what’s the biggest difference between now and when you first started?

When I first got into publishing, I was really stuck in between two different worlds. There was the world of corporate publishing that was on the rise, but there was also what had been publishing, which was very much a gentleman’s agreement—a kind of rich people hobby industry where publishers were doing it for their own enjoyment for the most part, and didn’t hold themselves to such high standards, particularly of the spreadsheet kind. Since then, publishing has just become so much more corporate. When I started, it was the big six, or maybe there were seven, and now there are the big five.

Why did you make the move from working within the publishing industry to critiquing it?

I had so many different jobs in and around the book publishing industry. I thought I was going to be a book editor. I worked at Simon & Schuster, and I was sure there was a direct career path for me. If I just worked hard enough, I could get the corner office one day. And that is not what happened. I was laid off from a job and then couldn’t get back in.

After that, I was pursuing jobs that put me near books in some way. That includes working at Barnes & Noble Corporate, and also at Kickstarter, and trying to look at the publishing industry from a different angle. By the time I started critiquing the industry—much like when I started critiquing the systems in which I lived—it was because I had enough experience that I was able to see a bigger picture.

What advice would you have for people wanting to get into the publishing industry today?

Run! The advice that I wish I’d had in my 20s is: don’t let the job define you. Don’t let the employer define you. People are switching up jobs all the time in media, and things will be a little unstable all the time. What you have as a transferable skill is who you are—which I hate in the sense that it means that you’ve got to be your own brand because I find that crass, too. But I also kind of do believe it.

Your book is published through Ecco, which is an imprint of HarperCollins, where employees went on strike a few years ago, eventually securing a new contract. Did you feel any trepidation, or receive any pushback from your editors or higher-ups in the company?

I was terrified that that would be the case. But what happened was I sold the book on proposal with one sample chapter, and that sample chapter was about participating in the HarperCollins strike. I wanted to make it clear that no one was going to get off easy. It turns out that in the book that I finished, there is some criticism of HarperCollins. They’re owned by News Corp. They publish people who are pro book bans, which seems, I don’t know, not great for business! When the legal review happened, I had zero notes. I thought, “Okay, at least they’re being cool about this. There are so many other things I could nitpick about, but I’m glad that they allowed me to critique them a little bit.”

You’ve freelanced or been contracted as an editor at different books publications and verticals; I remember pitching you when you were editing for Vulture a few years ago. Is that an arrangement you’re happy with, or would you prefer to be full-time and there just aren’t many permanent positions out there?

I would like to [be working full-time]. My husband and I have figured out recently that we have another year or so of health insurance coverage under his union benefits. The moment that we don’t, I’ll be ready to find a full-time job. I’m diabetic, and I grew up [never thinking about] trying to be an artist or just a writer because I always knew I would have to have a full-time job that had the benefits that I needed.

There is an essay in the book about health insurance as a freelancer. Could you talk bit more about that?

When I married my husband, for the first time I was able to consider what it would be like if I wanted to try freelancing full-time because I could get on his health insurance. It was more difficult for me than I had realized, turning over that care of myself to him.

I was taught from the moment I was a little girl that I could do everything myself. I don’t need to depend on other people when I can take care of my health and my finances. So much of the book is coming to terms with the fact that it’s actually okay to accept help. It’s good to offer it, and it’s good to accept it. And those two things go hand in hand.

Why did you start, and eventually end, the Maris Review podcast?

I started it back in the day, when Twitter could still get you jobs. I tweeted about how my dream job would be to have a podcast where I interview authors, and Jonny Diamond from Lit Hub saw that and said, “Hey, want to do a podcast?” And I said, “Yes, please.” And it was the best, for four and a half years.

To be perfectly honest, the listenership wasn’t big enough to justify the expense that Lit Hub was paying to produce the show. I was told that I should either cut back to two episodes a month, or write instead. So I thought, “Well, after four and a half years of podcasting, maybe I could try writing a little bit more.” And I’ve been enjoying that, too.

I’m never going to get to the end of my podcast list or my book list. How do you decide what to read? Do you feel obligated to read everything you’re sent, or are you picking out what you want and giving the rest away or whatever? And also, let’s talk about schedule. How many hours a day do you read? How many books a week, a month, a year do you read?

My goal for right now is to read one book and listen to one book a week. I’ve found that is pretty manageable, given that my afternoons are very much devoted to reading. We adopted a new dog three months ago so any time I take her out for a long walk, I listen to an audiobook. Penguin Random House has its own audio app that reviewers can access audio galleys through. That has really changed the way that I consume books.

It gets really complicated and tricky in terms of choosing the next book to read because there are so many different things I’m weighing. Because I have been writing about books for so long, I’m familiar with lots of the authors whose new books are coming in. I always feel like I want to be caught up on any author whose other books I’ve enjoyed.

Do you ever feel guilty that you can’t feasibly get to all of them?

All the time. I have a stack of galleys in one location that’s for things that haven’t come out yet this year. And then I have a stack of galleys for the things that have come out this year that I haven’t read yet. Every couple of weeks, I have to look at the stack of galleys that I haven’t read yet and just kind of be like, “Well, you can’t allow these galleys to take over your entire apartment. Therefore, you have to make some tough decisions.” I put them out on the street, and my neighbors are very appreciative. It does feel a little bit like giving up each time, even though there are literally hundreds of them and absolutely no way that I could, as one person, get to them. I try to read the first 15 pages, and if it isn’t grabbing me, I put it down. But I feel guilty about that too.

This content originally appeared on The Creative Independent and was authored by Scarlett Harris.