On the couch this morning with a fresh cup of coffee looking out over an absolutely brilliant day. And thinking about … promoting, marketing, publicizing?
Which means, I am not writing. Ugh.
It is absolutely astounding to me how wrong I could have been about what being a “writer” entails. I can create something that will interest somebody somewhere. But how to reach those readers?
There are tools, and plenty of people who sell information, books, seminars, face paint, helicopters etc. to reach an audience. And people who offer to do some of the work for you. But in the end, it is the author who must shoulder the load.
Reclusive, sensitive, tongue-tied introverts who would rather live in fictional worlds than talk to anyone much of the time.
On the couch this morning, I was whining about this to myself when my Muse leaned in real close and said, “You will do it because it has to be done.” It was so plain and clear it startled me because I live alone here in my loft on the hill top. Then it made me smile, because of her certainty.
I would rather write than take seminars or make accounting decisions or filter good advice from the gimme of charlatans. But I don’t have a choice. With 8 million and counting titles on Amazon, with the outlets for physical books declining, with readers having nearly an infinite choice among a cacophony of writers clamoring for their attention, that is just the way it is, now, regardless of how great or lousy a writer’s books may actually be.
I will do it because it has to be done: create relationships with readers who share my interests. To get my words into their hands. Your hands.