This post is primarily for authors of practical nonfiction. However, vulnerability and bringing oneself on the page is an essential tool for connecting with readers regardless of your nonfiction genre. In some types of writing it’s optional (if you’re writing an historical biography); in others, like memoir and personal essay, vulnerability is the foundation of the entire thing. For all the genres in between—from conscious business to revealing corruption in the food industry—writers can strengthen their bond with readers by bringing themselves into the story. Even if you’re writing about something totally new to you, show us your journey in relationship to the subject.

Many new authors want to be seen as authorities on their topic, because they think that will inspire more readers to buy their books. That’s an ego-driven goal; it focuses on the author’s needs rather than the reader’s. If readers don’t feel a connection with an author, they’re not likely to resonate to that person’s work—or to share it with their friends and colleagues. The  author’s reach will be limited. 

Knowledge is objective. Given enough resources (time, money, access), anyone can attain it. But knowledge alone is not enough to gain credibility with your reader. Readers want to know you’ve been where they are, and you’ve made it through. They want to know you felt what they’re feeling. In short, they need empathy and compassion. Credibility comes from sharing your experience.

There’s a Buddhist saying: “May this experience serve to awaken compassion.”  Personal experience means that you have a true understanding of what your reader is going through; this comes across on the page, whether or not you want it to, through a variety of verbal microexpressions. Personal experience isn’t necessary in every nonfiction topic, but it’s particularly important if you’re writing about challenges in the areas of health, emotions or finances. It’s also essential if you’re writing about spiritual awakening (which sometimes begins as a ‘falling away’ of everything that’s familiar and comfortable in a person’s life).

I don’t believe in “self-help,” because the phrase implies that who we are needs improvement, and I believe we are all, at our essence, whole. The task of a lifetime is not to fix some perceived flaw, but to discover our wholeness. However, I do believe in books that metaphorically walk alongside people and empower them to navigate difficult situations in their lives—situations in which the author has first-hand experience.

A Ph.D matters if you’re writing about neuroscience or quantum physics. If you’re writing about meditation or mindfulness, formal training in those areas is useful-to-essential, because training teaches you to do those things responsibly, to be accountable for your own projections and issues. And if you’re writing about coaching or therapy, professional certification lends credibility, as well as offering the same benefits. Certification exists for a reason: To protect both client and practitioner. But ‘authority’ without personal experience is empty.

A Brief History of Narrative Distance

In the past, the model of authority was someone who knew it all and imparted their knowledge to others. Top-down information. Hierarchical, patriarchical, us-them. It was a zero-sum game: I have information, and you don’t. Aside from those who wrote memoirs, “experts” weren’t those who had experienced challenges, or if they had, they didn’t talk about it publicly. Emotional distance reigned supreme. It was a holdover from the journalistic rule of objectivity: Never insert yourself into the story. But that’s not necessarily what resonates with readers. Connecting deeply with readers is all about being relatable.  It makes sense: If you want to establish a relationship, you need to offer something the reader can relate to. Heart to heart. Whole self to whole self…

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