I don’t know where it came from.
I really don’t.
If you’ve read previous posts, you know that sales and marketing has been terrifying me from the first time I hit “publish” on Amazon. Terrifying, confusing, overwhelming, embarrassing, you name it. I have not done much of anything with sales or marketing besides attending some local craft fairs (which have been fun, I have to admit).
I’ve been doing a lot of research. Digging into how to get attention for an ebook, how to make this dream of mine actually click, where to go, who to see, all that jazz. I’ve been doing research for years. Lots and lots of research. Not a lot of action, but a lot of research.
Until recently. I don’t know what crawled into my heart and made me brave, but it’s suddenly there.
I’ve been running $0.99 promotions on my books. The first two only got me half a dozen sales, but the last one got me almost twenty, and I’ve had some mysterious “glitches” where I suddenly sell a handful of books for no reason. That hasn’t happened since the first year I put a book out. They may be “glitches,” but a book or author don’t get glitches if they’re sitting at the dead bottom of the heap.
I think — and I could be very wrong here — I think my sudden streak of courage has to do with hearing consistently for years that people LIKE my books.
Every time I started to melt down about never being a real author, never being able to make a living at what I do, someone would pop out of the woodwork and tell me something awesome about my writing. Every time. Sometimes multiple times. The last time I melted down about not making it as a “real” author, the local library bought copies of all my books, and the librarian who bought them told me how much she enjoyed all of them. I made sure to swing by and sign all their copies, because hell yes!
I thought that was nice, but I also thought, “Local library buys a couple books by a local author, that’s just feel-good and kind on their part, not a real reflection of how good I am.”
But that same week, a friend who had purchased my first book called me up and invited me out for a drink and to talk about writing. Of course I went. When we’d caught up, I asked her what she wanted to talk about. She said, “How much I like your books!” Then she bought the rest of them. I nearly cried.
But my story gets better. That Monday at work, I mentioned that incident to a co-worker and said how happy it made me. She replied, “Your faerie story is my favorite book.” And I said, “Of all time?” expecting her to laugh embarrassedly and say, “well, my favorite of your books.” But she smiled and nodded. “Yep,” she said. “That story — it’s gonna stay with me.”
Well, holy shit.
There were more. People I met saying, “Oh, yes, the author. I’ve heard of you.” Or, “My co-worker’s kids are thrilled that I know you, they’ve read all your books and they love you so much!”
Damn, guys.
I’d heard positive things before. People stopping me to exclaim, “I LOVED the book!” or “This is a good story. This is life-changing stuff. People need you.”
It never stuck before. I don’t know why. I would repeat these things to myself when I was feeling low, and a little voice in the back of my head would say, “But they’re not critics. They’re not librarians. They’re not book sellers. They are my friends, and they aren’t just trying to be kind, they really like my work, but they aren’t who I need to impress.”
Even now, writing the compliments I’ve received, I can hear those words in my head. “Not who I need to impress.”
I don’t know why the more recent compliments are working. But they are. That’s part of why I’m writing this blog post. To figure out WHY they might be working.
Maybe it’s because the people I’m hearing compliments from lately from aren’t always people who know me well. Some of them are total strangers.
Maybe there’s just finally a critical mass of people who have said nice things.
Maybe it’s a bit of both.
Maybe it’s that I’ve also finally heard from people who didn’t like the book — and it didn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would. They weren’t rude, or condescending, or mocking. They didn’t say stupid things that proved they hadn’t actually read it, or try to offer intelligent critique that actually showed they didn’t know what they were talking about. They just didn’t like the book.
Well, okay. Fair enough. I’ve read books I didn’t like, and I do hold a little bit of animosity towards authors that do a really terrible job of telling a story, but only insofar as I wish they’d quit writing. I don’t want to hit them with sticks or suffocate them in the night. I just want them to find a hobby that suits them better and leave me alone. If people feel that way towards me, well, all right. But there are enough people who like what I write that I’m going to keep at it. If you don’t like it, you are welcome not to read it and to dislike that I wrote it.
Perhaps that’s part of why I’m gaining confidence. Once upon a time, my identity and self-worth was very wrapped up in what other people thought of me. It’s not anymore. If people don’t like me, I don’t give two shits. That’s been a hard-won attitude, but a very worthwhile one. I care if my friends and family or even strangers are hurt by what I do and say, but I don’t give a damn if someone simply doesn’t like me. Everyone has an opinion, including me, and I fully expect people to go on living even if I don’t like them. I plan to do the same.
Whatever the real reason is, I have found my courage. I have found the ability to use some of the techniques I’m researching.
And maybe, just maybe, I can make this writing dream actually click.
