I want followers.
I NEED followers!
Because—oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit— I might fail.
If I faithfully submit my query letter for my manuscript Amy’s Own, include the synopsis and sample chapters when requested, keep track of my email queries—yeah, how many have been “sent” off into the technological cosmos, the ethereal void, never to be heard from again? If I keep tramping to the post office to mail via snail to the last holdouts who still regard something tangible as something of value (until they consider the contents of no value). If I continue with this day-in and day-out, month-after-month and I realize I’m down to my last few 3×5 cards (all the others graffitied in red with permanent marker). If no agent or publishing house, no established, traditional entity wants my novel—then what?
I need to self-publish.
For that to succeed, I need to have an established audience; followers. For that to happen, I need to create an internet presence; Facebook, twitter, email, LinkedIn—deep breath—writer info websites, writers’ groups on the web, writers sharing their work on the web, writers critiquing work on the web. Phew! Jesus! I need to entertain, be witty, intellectual and insightful. Aach! Feeling a little parched here. I need to hold your attention day-after-day, month-after-month, in the hope that on the day I self-publish; the day I offer my “gift” to the world; the day I throw my mind, body & soul onto the railroad tracks and wish for the best—that you, you and YOU! will buy my book.
Won’t you all—all of you who link with me as “friend”—would you please, please go buy my self-published novel?
Excuse me? Oh, $14.95 is too much for a hardcopy that represents the last decade of my creative life and for which I’ve been saving these last 2 years so I could pay a printing house to make a short run of 100 copies?
Still, no? Well, here you go; the e-book’s only $1.99.
What’s that? Well, I was kind of hoping not to have a closing out sale until the spring—you know, thinking maybe my book might catch on by then. But, yeah, I know, the economy still stinks (Obama/Bush, yada, whoever).
Okay, okay. Go ahead, 99 cents. Take it. No, that IS the sale price!
Thank God for grandmother Eli: “Honey, it’s not so bad—somewhere in the world, it’s cocktail hour.”