Designers Who Write: When Layout Starts to Become Literature

Lately, things seem to be revolving around book projects — structuring them, proposing them, and publishing them. And it's not just my own projects, but those from the people around me too.

I have two book projects in the works. They are very different in topic and scope, and in different stages of development. The first one is co-authored with my long-term research partner. We had a book proposal that attracted interest from a university press a month before COVID-19 brought everything to a standstill in March 2020. While our daily lives changed, nothing moved forward with that proposal. One might think that the book project would have simply paused, or faded into the netherverse. That’s not what happened. Instead, we took on smaller projects that inevitably nudged us to rethink (and revamp) our original proposal. We’ve recently been in discussion with an independent publisher. That’s been a great experience but also happens to come with funding challenges. It’s an ongoing process.

My other book project is in a perpetual state of structuring and researching. Only recently (very, very recently) has it reached a point where this jigsaw puzzle is coming together. I’m writing about design writing; this began years ago but it’s been pushed to the side over the years. There are unexpected loose ends, a mix of fiction and non-fiction, and a looming issue of nomenclature — how to name the things I’m writing about? Last week, with colleague-friends, I had an encouraging zoom chat about it and also a what-did-I-get-myself-into kind of coffee break conversation on campus. These kinds of discussions are so good for sorting through the havoc of a large project, and yet, everyone’s time is precious. Back to notes, tapping keyboards, and haphazard voice notes during morning walks with my dog.

So, how do we do this? There are writing groups, coaches, developmental editors, and the rare people that will be your support system. I’ve got the first one (hello, Skeletons!) and the last one. Those in the middle require funding. Money in academia means either out-of-pocket or university grants, and the latter is tricky because many grants are for research support (i.e., collecting data or transcribing interviews) and writing… all that damn writing… may not fall into this category.

Both colleagues mentioned above, and my research partner, are also working on separate book projects. We’re faculty but also practitioners of art and design, and none of us “need” books for tenure or promotion. There are other factors at play here. So why do we do this?

Prestige can come with publishing a book. There are also projects and concepts too big for an article or creative study; they beg to be in a larger, more complex form. It can be rewarding to see these endeavors come to life and circulate. There are headaches and setbacks and insecurities that come with these projects, too.

I’m not a published book author {yet} but I’ve reviewed my fair share of book proposals — no two approaches are the same. Graphic designers are usually taught how to design books, not write them. If we can visualize the pages, the chapter titles, the (text)ure of transitions, and maybe even that heap of footnotes… well, perhaps that serves us well in the long run.

Maybe you are going through this too? Yeah, I see you.