If you have been following the blog for even a few posts you have heard me rave about my passion for writing. If you have spoken with me in person, you are likely tired of hearing me talk about books I have written, books I am writing and the multitude of those I hope to write.
I was approached by a fellow at the park where I like to walk in the morning and, of course, the conversation turned to what I do for a living and he got an earful of why I write and for whom I write.
Admittedly, I tell lies as a vocation. I dress it up and call it fiction and people pay me, but it’s still telling the whoopers my mother assured me would land me in the infernal regions. The best (or worse) part of it is that I truly do love doing it. I believe all my life with its ups and downs steered me to this place.
Now, having told you all that. Let me tell you about my day. It began at just after 0300—that’s three AM and in the seventeen hours since I have spent twelve reading and studying how to promote and market the things I write. I would love to scream that I did not sign on for this, but the truth is the moment I decided to write for others to read—that is exactly what I signed up for.
It doesn’t matter that I hate it, it makes my head hurt, and exposes me to an ever larger population with “these trying (or uncertain) times” constantly on their lips. If I choose to write for readers, those readers must be hunted down where they live and somehow persuaded to read my books.
I can see the wisdom in V.C. Andrews’ approach. She left most of that work for after she was dead. It is an idea with some appeal. There are only two problems I see in my adopting that course.
First of all, the people I really trust to do that work when I’m gone are teetering on the brink with me. The second reason is that, dang it, I enjoy knowing people are reading my books. It’s even better if they like them, but that’s optional. There are things I write to purposely make people mad. I’m good with that.
Dickens had to be talking about writing when he penned that “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” I am sowing in hope here that taking the time to cram my head with marketing advice is a far better thing for my writing than I have done before.