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book promotion 6/19/2013 2:18:38 AM
No writer worth a nickel is good at self-promotion There's writing, then there's promoting. Every author runs into this conundrum: we create what we believe is a masterpiece, a work of great art, the epic novel, a classic for all time, or at least a passable bathtub read only to discover that the really hard work is about to begin. No writer worth a nickel is any good at promoting their work, even though our job description might be 'self-promoter,' or as George Carlin used to say, 'dig me'! We're no good at it; we'd rather be writing than selling stuff. If we wanted to sell stuff we'd have done better as kids with the Burpee seeds, and subscriptions to Life or Look or Popular Mechanics. In my case I couldn't deal with the polling the neighborhood slog, asking people to please buy stuff, or take a look, or at least open the friggin' door. When they did open up I'd be tongue tied, frozen in place, like a statue trying to sell 'Grit,' whatever the heck that was, but I'm dating myself.
You say, 'there must be an app for that.' You're right, of course, there is indeed an app for selling books, several in fact. There are websites and apps and resources galore to help writers get our stuff out there so it'll sprout like so many Burpee seeds and make us bloom into the next Jonathan Franzen, or Jeannette Walls, or whoever wrote The Pet Goat, thus securing his/her authorial name in the literary history books. Recently I perused one of these so called writers' websites, a venue that offers all manner of authorial advice, a blog, a forum, many side offerings like reviews, editing, cover art, formatting, you name it. The site shall remain nameless here to keep me from being sued for defamation. Suffice to say that the ad copy on the site's many pages was riddled with typos, grammar errors and odd word placements, what a good friend used to call 'decorative English.' I have a suspicion it was invented in a place where ESL is taught profusely. Let me just say that it was not a venue that inspired confidence. Maybe it's just me, but when I wish to consort with literary colleagues I like for them to display a bit of literary competence. Weird, I know.
We writers are like other people who are desperate to sell their wares, we're vulnerable to the various shadowy and often sinister snake-oil sales people out there who'd like nothing better than to separate us from a bit (or a lot) of our cash. Like vultures, these non-writer types can sense our eagerness to have a customer--any customer--look over our product, or consider it, or just open the friggin' door and they're more than eager to help us make that door open. Some days as a writer I feel like that kid again, freezing on a stoop, terrified to ring the doorbell for fear someone will indeed open it, and I'll have to launch into my spiel: "Please buy my book! Please! You'll love it, I promise! Mom did! You'll love it, really! Perhaps not as much as I do, but still..."
Writing is a great life, but promoting the forthcoming product is cold reality, and I hate it. So please buy my book and I'll leave you alone. Thank you. You can close the door now.
