Tag Archives: marketing

Quitting Time?

I’m 64 years old, so let me just say 1:15 a.m. is way past my bedtime. Yet here I sit. Sweating, because I’m too cheap to turn on the AC. Thinking. Blogging. Sweating. Pondering. Basically driving myself nuts, trying to answer one yes/no question: Is it time to stop writing novels?

Notice the absence of the adjective <em>simple</em>, as in, one <em>simple </em>question. I don’t do simple. I complicate. Everything. It’s a gift.

See, here’s the rub. I used to love to write. Maybe I still do. But, you know, I got caught up in the whole indie marketing frenzy–not to be confused with a shark feeding frenzy, although, hey … maybe they’re not that different. I tried, but I can’t keep up. I’m shell shocked. Seriously. I sometimes think I’ll run screaming down the street—wild-eyed and possibly buck naked—if  I see one more Facebook post about how I could be “10 Tweets Away from Bestseller” or make a killing with “5 Benign Book Signing Strategies” or “Instantly Instagram an Irresistible Author Platform.”

So I ask myself. Should I, an unrepentant marketing failure, a crotchety promo dropout, continue to write? I have neither yen nor breath to toot my own horn. I get cranky just thinking about it. Ergo, wouldn’t it make sense to just stop, for God’s sake?

Absolutely. And I’ve made up my mind to do exactly that, at least a hundred times. Except ….

I can’t stop thinking about writing. No problem at all resisting the urge to actually <em>do</em> it, but I can’t stop thinking about the books I have out there or the ones in progress or the unborn stories running laps in my brain. I’m afflicted with snippets of dialogue, plot points, conflicts, characters. I get ideas, dammit.

I recently confided in my blog-tour coordinator—employed back when I could afford such—my urge to switch off the Mac, throw out the pencils, burn my thesaurus. She said no, don’t do that, all our reviewers loved your books.

I spent all night updating my website. The one I won’t need, on account of I’m not going to write books any more.

Maybe.

Crap.

I need another glass of wine.

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Growing Up Indie, Part III: Out of the Frying Pan

You know those moments when you throw up your hands and mutter, “I don’t care about conventional wisdom, I’m gonna do this my way?”

I’m there.

I became an indie author last July, and I love it.  Please remember that:  I.  Love.  It.  Love getting my books out there, love getting feedback from readers/reviewers, love knowing I have control.

I do not … I repeat, not … love promoting.

Lord knows, there are droves of really smart people out there who can tell you the hows and whys and wherefores of marketing your book.  There are tools to help and websites to help and courses to help even more.  Facebook groups.  Twitter folk.  Trust me, there’s no shortage of knowledgeable, willing mentors.

To them, I say, “Thank you.  For your graciousness, your time, your patience, your willingness, and the advice I did take.  But from now on … count me out.”

Count me out, as in, no more frenetic/clever social media marketing campaigns. As in, I might try guest blogging—when/if I have time and something to say—but blog TOURS? Not happening.

I’m on the far side of 60 years old, and I have books to write. If they’re good books, the word will spread. (You know, like, “If you build it, they will come.”) Probably glacially, maybe not in my lifetime, but them’s the breaks.

Does believing people will find my books make me a Pollyanna? Quite possibly. Are smarter, more talented, more experienced, much more successful authors reading this and making with the, “Tsk, tsk?” No doubt.

But I know my own capabilities. I don’t have the energy to build marketing momentum AND tell stories. I love to tell stories. I detest marketing.

So, this is me, leaping out of the social media frying pan into the fire of probable anonymity (not to mention penury).

I came to this party to write. And, brother,Image that’s what I’m gonna do.

►End of rant◄