My Way: Another chapter in my publishing journey.

Originally published on October 18th, 2018 here.

For most of my 14 years as a published author, I’ve run on a fuel made of equal parts ambition and desperation.

My ambition was to become The Next Judy Blume and dominate the world of YA contemporary literature through my Maddie Series books.

My desperation was that I believed, in the most frantic and determined way, that if I followed the letter of the law of those more experienced and successful than I, then I would win the golden ticket (a.k.a. a book contract with one of the Big 5.)

The very first example of that is, after a few years of rejections, I decided to self-publish. This decision came from the advice of A Person In The Know who said that she’d seen people use it as a platform to gain attention from agents.

She was right. This book won a big award and agents started to contact me, and I signed with one of them one only a year after self-publishing. The next piece of advice came from other author friends I made through self-publishing. They said to go to as many SCBWI  conferences as possible, so I did. While this didn’t land me a book contract, it helped me to make friends with more published authors. When four years of conferences and working with an agent didn’t move me any closer to a book deal, an author friend told me to get an MFA, focus on craft and revisit the publishing part later. Maybe this would be it! When I started the MFA program in 2009, one of my instructors told me to fire the agent because it had now been 4 years and no book deal, this, according to her, was not a good sign (she was right). So, I fired the agent, finished the MFA (and grew a hell of a lot as a writer!), and followed the advice of another teacher in the program, and upon graduation, submitted to new agents, landing one not even a year after graduation. During my time with the second agent, I revised and rewrote three different manuscripts based on every piece of advice she gave me. As we set out to submit, I thought I am so very close.

I wasn’t. Four years later, I not only didn’t have a book deal but also my spirit was crushed. I had spent from 2003 to 2014 in a desperate chase for the ultimate prize, and I failed to win it.

So, I gave up.

For 2 years I focused on writing for the love of it. I didn’t attend one workshop or conference. I resisted the overwhelming urge to submit to agents and editors because that urge was fueled by desperation (and my ambition caused me nothing but grief by this point) and I was SICK of desperation.

In 2016, I began to submit personal essays that I was really proud of. I carefully researched the market and targeted only those publications that fit my niche.

And it worked. I began to not only get published but also GET PAID (BONUS!)!

That’s when it all became clear: I needed to be deliberate versus desperate, look inward versus outward, listen to my inner voice not just the voices of those around me.

When I decided to sign with Black Rose Writing earlier this year to publish Till It Stops Beating, I didn’t make that decision out of desperation. I made it out of a conscious choice: I no longer wanted to do the pitch/query and wait game, and I no longer believed in the delusions of grandeur I once had: that I would be the next Judy Blume.

Because none of what I had done panned out in a way that was reflective of the amount of hard work, the amount of emotional, financial, or physical sacrifice I spent.

Black Rose Writing isn’t one of the Big 5. It’s a small publisher that works in partnership with its authors to market and publish books. With this publisher, I have support, encouragement, and freedom. This beats false hope and desperate ambition. More importantly, my work is out there for you all to read and that’s really what fuels me now.

After Compulsive Eating Ends

A few weeks ago, as I was doing a routine cleanup of my inbox, I clicked open an email from one of the many writer websites that spits out lists of the latest call for submissions. I began to do what I always do when one of these lands in my inbox—scroll and click, scroll and click. As I made my way down the list of possible places to publish my work, I also started to click and open various files in my dropbox, all the time my mind was sorting and figuring out—that piece could go there and this piece could go here…it all feels good and possible and exciting until…I finish the sorting and matching process, and I’m left with the next step: editing the pieces to fit within the guidelines of each publication.

At the first highlight and cut, I feel fine, normal, neutral. But within about ten minutes, I’m sweating and my stomach hurts. I keep going, thinking that if I work harder or faster or longer, this feeling will dissolve…Only the harder and faster I work, the worse I feel. This type of editing feels like an itch that I scratch and scratch and cannot satisfy, no matter how long or hard I edit. Soon, I’m hating the piece, hating the publication the piece is for, and hating myself.

This reminds me of the days I suffered from binge-eating disorder, the days when I felt an un-scratchable itch, an insatiable hunger, when my life felt out of control and all I longed for was to fill a desperate emptiness.

Though it’s been almost two decades since I’ve suffered from compulsive eating, the internal mechanism of compulsivity hasn’t died. I now suffer from bouts of compulsive writing, and much like compulsive eating, I can’t exist without eating, I cannot exist without writing. And much like what cures compulsive eating, what cures compulsive writing is learning how to eat (write) from internal hunger (inspiration) cues.

And like the recovery from compulsive eating, the recovery from compulsive writing is very, very hard. Especially when there are triggers just a point and click away.

In a previous piece that was posted on The Mighty, I discussed this connection, and I also stated that I had stopped writing compulsively.

That’s not completely true. The truth is I’m trying to stop writing compulsively and like my recovery from binge-eating disorder, this process may take a very, very long time with moments of relapse.

When I received the YES from The Mighty about that piece, I was delirious. See that picture below? 

That’s me receiving the YES. Then, not more than ten minutes later, I was terrified: Would this trigger compulsive writing? After all, I definitely felt the pull and desperate itch of MORE. Of wait, if this piece got published, maybe this one that’s been sitting on my desk top will and maybe that one stuck in my works-in-progress folder can get published…Suddenly I was in a tornado of opening and closing various documents of various pieces, deleting and editing and slicing and cutting. My heart pounded and my brow was damp.

I had to catch myself, I had to yell STOP! out loud, in front of my 12-year-old daughter who sat at the dining room table watching this all.

And it reminded me of those times while I was in recovery from binge eating disorder that I would be starting to binge, I would be knee-deep in a large pile of food and my hunger meter would be tilting further and further towards full and I would have to yell STOP! and then physically stand up and walk away.

That day, a few weeks ago with my daughter when I received the first YES to a piece being published in years, that day I pushed away from the laptop and yelled STOP!, stop to the compulsivity, stop to the self-loathing, stop to the desperation of trying to fill that which really cannot be filled—at least not in that compulsive way—that day was when I made a really important pivot.

I stopped myself before it turned into a full-on writing binge.

And yes, just a few weeks ago, I started to write-binge again, but I caught myself, just as I was about to start deleting, slicing, cutting, and rewriting in that desperate rage-y way.

I don’t know what to do about these triggers I have because, just like with food, writing and publishing opportunities are EVERYWHERE. They are no longer hidden in the back of writer’s magazines or tucked into the The Writer’s Market. For me, going online is like a compulsive eater going into an enormous all-you-can-eat buffet, opportunity to binge is right there.

I guess one way is to avoid triggers, like a compulsive eater may avoid an all-you-can-eat buffet. The problem is, it is not realistic to avoid the Internet, my biggest trigger. Not to mention, avoidance wasn’t what cured me of compulsive eating. What cured me was to recognize the internal cues for hunger and for satiation, and if I wanted to eat when I wasn’t hungry, I had to learn to do something else, including tolerate the emotional discomfort of feeling instead of eating.

When I was recovering from binge eating, I had to allow myself to get hungry and in the beginning, it meant recognizing what physical hunger feels like, what were the signs? A gurgle, a hallow feeling inside, a gnawing. Then, I had to learn how to feed the hunger to satiation rather than stuffed-to-the-gills. This went on for a year or so, and as I became better at this, more space was now left in the day to feel feelings instead of eat them. This meant I also had to get better at allowing myself to feel.

What cured me too during that time was writing, writing in my journal, writing poetry, writing short stories, writing in this effortless, spontaneous over-flow of ideas and feelings way. This was authentic expression, not forced, not obsessed over, not desperate.

So now as I write this, I feel that flow, that effortlessness and I let go of compulsivity, of self-loathing, and of binging.

Faith and Writing

After 4 years together, my agent and I have parted ways.

This is numero dos for me, so I’ve been through breaking up with an agent before.

However, this time around, breaking up with an agent feels like…breaking up with a spouse because there are “children” (pending manuscripts still out on submission) to consider.

Despite the obvious differences between breaking up with an agent versus breaking up with a spouse, this song remains the same: Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve… And though our parting was simply a matter of going in different directions, breaking up with this agent means that I’m all the way back to the beginning of the journey.

And that kinda sucks.

On top of what I feel about this is the fact that it’s now twice. I feel what my friends who have had a few failed marriages have told me they feel—a little embarrassed. I have all the thoughts I’m pretty sure those folks have: Man, if I can’t get it right twice, I should just give up trying. 

Despite all this, I have not lost complete faith in publishing or in my writing… thanks to a very unlikely source: Bethenny Frankel, the not-so-housewife of The Real Housewives of New York.

I know—reserve your judgment. Also, come on…you know you watch those shows, too.

I was actually listening to her on a radio talk show, and while there was a time I dismissed her as a vapid, wanna-be who needed to eat a hamburger—or at the very least, some carbs—thanks to this interview (and, yes, this season of The Real Housewives of New York) I’ve come to see another perspective of her.

I’m fascinated by her transformation post very public and very nasty divorce and post failed talk show—watching a successful, bold, aggressive woman climb up the ladder of success and then have multiple failures knock her down is somewhat validating that the journey to success is not linear. And, listening to her on this radio show while biking the other morning caused me great, great pause and a sort of a-ha moment happened with regard to this recent change in my writing life.

Bethenny spoke about regret, writing (she’s written a few best sellers), trusting your instincts, seeing things as they really are, and making decisions.

On regret:

The one thing that has gotten me through has been saying whatever is happening to me, I know I will realize later why it happened.

I’m not a total fatalist or believer in absolute destiny—that things are predetermined and on a set course. Yet, right now, though I don’t have a lot of time away from this experience, I can already see the necessity of going through it, which I think could be viewed as the reason. Any ounce of naiveté I had left inside of me regarding publishing is now gone. Even though I’d been at it awhile, when I signed with this agent, I still had a pie-in-the-sky perspective, and delusions of grandeur about getting a book deal, what it meant and what it entailed. The reason for this break up experience, in the grand scheme of things, is to learn a critical lesson in publishing: Just because you have an agent who submits your work to publishers on your behalf and who also invests time in your work, doesn’t mean IT will happen. Important lesson to learn.

On Writing

 That’s why I write. Then it won’t be for naught.

Me, too. I often write to unravel the knot of confusion in my head or to make peace with something. In writing, there is exploration, hope, and possibility. The act of writing this very blog post, right now, is validating. It validates that my experience means something—that it matters.

On Using My Gut Instincts

We don’t use our gut instincts. We were given a women’s intuition and we don’t use our guts. We use our heads and our hearts.

There are a few moments over the last few years, when I felt, in my gut, something wasn’t working. But, I ignored that feeling. I ignored it because I was too scared to be alone. Because if I chose to part ways, I would have to face my failures and, at the time, that terrified me. My head and my heart got in the way. 

On Seeing Things as They Really Are

I think it might be what I want somebody to be.

I’ve learned over my lifetime that people come in and out of our lives for specific reasons and at specific times. My former agent came at a pretty low point in my writing life, and she restored a sense of hope and possibility and because of that, I ignored some of the most obvious signs that maybe this wasn’t a match.

On Making Decisions

Women make decisions out of fear, rather than truth.

When I knew, after about two years with each of those agents, that really things weren't working, I stayed for a few more years, all out of the fear that no one would ever want me again, and being on my own without the agent, I’d have to face the feeling of failure and sadness…the irony is, I was going to have to face those feelings anyway. As a writer, it’s unavoidable. Go figure.

 ***

And Now

The gift of this experience is that for a while I’ve wanted to stop—and the stopping had nothing to do with my former agent. The truth is, I’ve wanted to take a break from the treadmill of trying to get a book deal; I’m tired. I need a break. I need perspective. I need to reassess if my goal of book deal is what I need as a writer. I used to feel it would validate my hard work…now I’m not so sure if the feeling of validation comes from signing a contract with a major publisher, seeing my name on the cover of a book, or seeing Random House or some other major publisher on the inside cover. I’m not convinced any more that achieving that goal validates me as, some how, a better or more successful writer. I’m just not sure. 

Hope And Possibility

I know there is another book inside of me. I know that there is a (virtual) stack of already-written books waiting for me to revise. I know that you can fall, you can fail, you can totally fuck up, and you can come back. You can rise, and rise again.

And I will. I really will. 

Self-Trust, Self-Publish, Self-Promote

The Rug Pulled Out

I am getting better at riding out the shit that life throws me. Right now, in my personal life, the life I don’t write about in my blog (believe it or not I do keep some things to my self), I have had something happen to me that is best analogized with this: You are walking on, what appears to be, a lovely bike path, nice and flat, miles and miles of easy asphalt ahead of you.  You are just going and swinging alone, enjoying the feeling of moving forward, the lovely scenery with water to your left and a thicket of trees to your right.  Then, suddenly, upon the next step, you drop, fall, down, down, down, and land in  new place, bruised and lost. It’s sudden. There’s no warning. And now, you have to figure out what to do.

This “shit” that life has thrown me is not the worst thing to have happened to me ever-that would be death, divorce, or illness. It’s none of those. Maybe that’s why while this sometimes wakes me in the middle of the night, but my heart doesn’t pound and I don’t get a tightness in my chest. While I am consumed with it in my head during the day, it’s more just the buzz and noise behind everything else.

So, it’s not that bad. I guess.

But, the point is, the reason for me sharing this with you all is that this “shit” has given me some perspective on my writing, and more importantly, (what this blog entry will eventually be about) on the marketing of my new book, Fear of Falling.

Struggle?

Due to this shit in my life, marketing my book seems like a minor concern and yet, at the same time I say that, I feel guilty. I shouldn’t neglect this book.  Marketing is my duty in a way that when you create something, with it comes the responsibility of caring for its well being. I know the book isn’t my child, and I have blogged about realizing my old metaphor of birthing books and parenting them into the world doesn’t really work. A book is not a child. I get that. But still, I wrote the thing and published it. Shouldn’t I tend to it regularly? Or, is it like what happens with your pets once you have children? Where all your energy used to go to loving Fido, now poor guy is lucky if you clean his food bowl once in awhile. 

Guilt?

While I feel guilty about Fear of Falling not getting as much of my time as it should, I am well aware of how futile book marketing efforts can be. That I can do every single thing short of tying the book to my neck like a necklace and still not sell a lot of books. I have talked at length about the going-up-hill-with-a-bag-of-rocks-on-my-back experience of book marketing.  The reality is that you just don’t know what will work, and you do a lot of shooting arrows in the dark.  That was fine with the first and second book and that was fine before I had two children and that was fine when I wasn’t in school and that was fine when my business was slow. But now, I am pressed for time. Now, I have other things that are simply more important.

Frustration

Even when I was a marketing nut, the result was almost the same as not doing a whole lot. With book one and two, I did every single thing possible and sold a total of a bit more than 1500 (and I still sell some here and there). That is fantastic for self-published with no help. But the amount of time and energy it took was enormous, and I don’t regret it, but my life is very different now and I can’t live that way. I have to make money to support my children, and so my time has to go to children, work, and husband. Plus, I am in school, and school comes before marketing my book. I have to accept my limitations, and I have to let go of these voices that say “You should have waited to publish this one” or “You should have tried harder for a new agent or tried at least once with submitting to a regular publishing house.”

Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.

And...more frustration

It’s frustrating to love your book and believe in it but feel as though the time it takes for promotion is futile. Shot in the dark, and if you keep shooting and missing, you get pissed because your time could be spent doing something else. Recently I sent out a gazillion press releases, spent $800 on it and got only one response. Seriously? WTF?

And...more struggle

The struggle is with the guilt I feel for not devoting the amount of time I did with book one and two. The struggle I feel is the sadness of how so few will get to read this current book.  How, in many ways, this is the most important one. The struggle is to say, “I did this for simply the sake of my art and not to sell or promote.”  Which is the truth.  I went into this one saying, “I am publishing book three because I have to.  Because if only two people read it and are moved and touched– it’s worth it.”  I don’t regret self publishing it. I just wish that the few things I do for marketing would snowball effect out and bring in more readers.

Self-Trust When You Self-Publish

When it comes down to it all, I have to trust my self and my process with this book, and I have to remind myself why I did it and reconcile myself with the reality that some of the marketing I have done, which cost lots of money and time, isn’t working, and so that’s it. That’s it, as in, time to stop wasting money and time and just do what’s easy and accessible and free. 

Forgive and let go...

I am done efforting with marketing and from here on, I will market only in ways that are easy. And if I don’t sell any more books, I accept that.

The struggle between work, school, marketing, children, husband, house. I really understand I no longer can do it all and do it all to the best effort. One of those things will suffer. It can’t be the children or husband or work or school. Those are, in ways, effortless.  It’s the marketing of this book. Sorry, book. I love you, but I can’t do much more than I am doing.

----------

Told you all, way back before I released this book, that  I would be really honest about the third time around in self-publishing.  So, here’s the update on the book’s progress.

Middletown High School in Middletown, RI ordered 12 copies to give out as awards to teachers for a unit they did on bullying.  MHS is my alum and place I taught a few years back. I wish they would invite me to come and do a workshop. Cross your fingers. I have put it out there so...

I had a signing at Barrington Books and sold 20 copies between the three books.

Reviewing/blog goddess and student/friend of mine Joanne Carnevale posted the first official review.

A fellow named Marc Marc Archambault, author and blogger, will review the book on his blog My Indy Book Review.

Devyn Burton from 5 Awesome YA Fans has the book and will review some time next year on his blog http://fdreview.blogspot.com/. The Faerie Drink Review

I submitted to the IPPY awards.

I have acquired 73 fans on Facebook!

The Bristol Phoenix Wrote a lovely piece about the book and me. http://www.eastbayri.com/detail/131943.html

The Jewish Voice will be running a blurb and a head shot in their next issue.

Mt. Hope High school here in Bristol asked me to come and do a workshop.

The Barrington Library– so I hear– has a display of my books!

Clark’s Alum magazine featured a quick blurb about the book.

A reviewer from the Young Adult Book Club website is set to review the book shortly.

On the other hand...

The Newport Daily News has passed on writing an article about me.  Too bad. They did a nice job a few years back on my first book.

A few weeks back there was a request from the press release service I used. Haven’t heard back, though. I spent $800 on this wire/press release service. I only got one response. Lesson learned.

I haven’t set up any more signings yet.

Ran a contest only one person submitted to. : (

If you have any easy and quick marketing ideas, email me!  I will post any that I try out. 

Random Thoughts On The Journey of Self-Publishing

The Undiscovered Gem

Coral, a deep red or pink precious gemstone, can only be found by divers who are deployed into the faraway waters of Northeast Asia, Northeastern Australia, and areas in the middle east.  Lapis Lazuli, a deep blue gemstone, is retrieved by professional climbers who traverse the “inhospitable” mountains of Afghanistan. Tanzinite, a violet blue rare gemstone, is found by miners in the foothills of Mt. Kilimanjaro.  My question is, how did someone know to look in these places to find such rare beauty? Was it more of an accident?  Where they looking for something else and then just stumbled up gorgeous stones?

I wonder if my books will be like an undiscovered gemstone, hidden in the deep crevices of some mountain or buried deep in the middle of the ocean or, worse, found in some mine no one can get to? Perhaps, one day, probably when I am dead, someone will uncover my books, buried beneath the ruins of my home office. Someone will find them and hold them up for all to see, hailing, “I have found the precious books! They are rare, they are beautiful!”  Maybe deep sea divers and miners will be deployed to excavate the remains of my office so that all the remaining copies can be retrieved. And, finally, the world will know the adventures of plucky Maddie Hickman, her angst, her friends, and her foibles.

It's a nice fantasy.

But a better one is that someone stumbles upon them now, holds them up to the masses, and proclaims that they are the next big thing in YA literature. I would rather be alive for the Big Moment, you know?

Seriously, this is going to be hard.


Back at it with book three....

I have to pound pavement with a heavy sack.  I have to knock on dead bolted doors. I have to send emails and post information on websites that no one may even read. I have to get the word out because no one else will.

I hate how self conscious and dumb I feel going into the local indie bookstore, three four times because the owner says she wants to host a signing, says she will display the books I have given her.

Yes, given her...until she puts the order she says she will put in...She keeps saying that she wants to get the best discount and make sure they are returnable...I keep reassuring her that if she calls iUniverse, they will take care of her, even gave her the extension to dial once she calls.

She has my books bound together with a large rubber band on the shelf in her office and hasn’t been able to contact iUniverse...Something about “they didn’t pick up.” I don’t argue with her. I give up. I will go and retrieve my books by the end of this week if I don’t hear from her, and then, I will just let go of the idea of a signing there anytime soon.

I have pounded on that door enough.

I Know The Leaf

I struggle with the marketing and publicity of this book.

Ignorance was bliss the first time around with self-publishing. Knowledge kills ignorance and can also kill the spirit that comes from not knowing. The sprit of not knowing is curiosity.

Watching my 14 month old journey through our yard, pausing to inspect leaves and rocks.  She can do this for hours.  She can sit with one leaf and inspect it, rub her fingers over it, tear it up.  Learn about it viscerally. Lose herself completely in it, in order to know it. 

I know about that leaf already. I know that if it’s dry and dead, it makes a crinkle noise.  That if it is freshly fallen, it has an earthy smell and smooth feel. I know because I have experienced the leaf thousands of times. Each leaf is unique and each experience with it is too, but I am not going to spend hours inspecting and learning about it. My curiosity about the leaf is less than it was thirty years ago.  I will have a moment while sitting with my baby outside. I will reach over, out of curiosity about what she is seeing, smelling, and feeling.  But it will be a flash, and soon after I inspect it, I’ll be on to the next thing.

I Know Self-Publishing

I know self publishing. I don’t have the stay-for-hours curiosity I had five and a half years ago. I pounded pavement and knocked on doors happily, hungrily, blindly, ignoring the wrinkled noses and funny looks of people when I told them I published with iUniverse that, yes, I was self published, but I did have a publisher you could call and order the books from.  Hell, you can get them from Ingram too. I schlepped those books to every gig I had, every class I taught, every speech I gave, every workshop I ran. I brought them with me if we were visiting family in other states, and I would scour the areas for local indie bookstores, and I would bustle in and say “Carry my book, whatever percentage you want to consign with me is fine. Just carry them.” No ego. No fatigue. I just cared about getting my book to people, any way I could.

It’s hard now.

I know the pushing-the-rock-up-a-mountain-with-ankle-and-wrist-weight feeling of self publishing. I know exactly how hard it is and exactly what hurdles I will have to traverse. It makes the pounding pavement that I know I must do all the more difficult. To market and publicize, you must have energy, time, and money. I have very little of all three. How will anyone reach this book?   I used to have the spirit of this whole experience is amazing. It’s new and fresh, and even when I would attend a whole bunch of gigs and not sell a lot, the experience of those gigs was just fabulous. I didn’t care about numbers.  Things have changed now, and I have a lot more responsibilities. I have two children instead of one, and I have a business with clients I really know, care about, and frankly provide me with my income. I am in school working harder than I ever have on my craft. I have to focus my energy on those things, giving myself whatever crumbs are left over.  The fact is, I can’t do marketing the way I did before  any more. I just can’t, and I believe that I need to approach this in a completely different way.  I can’t do every single thing that floats by my in box. I can’t give away books to friends and family. I can’t beg bookstore owners to buy my books and host a book signing.  I just can’t.

I Know This Book Is That Good

See, I don’t want me to sell the book.  I want the book to sell itself, and I am just the author. I don’t want to be on the red carpet, but I want my book to be. I like being behind the scenes and that’s why I write. The way I sold a lot of books the first time around was by attending sooooo many gigs,  I stopped keeping track. I sold books only because of me and my unwavering tenacity.  Also, I can perform well and work a crowd.  When I taught middle school, I could get a study hall of 250 kids to shut up and sit down. In a crowd, I can lose myself in a role and entertain, and if you get a kick out of me, you will probably buy my book. When I showed up at a gig and felt on, I performed and sold books. When I felt off and sat quietly or just did my thing robotically, I sold little or none. It never occurred to me that pulling back would ever work, that the books would sell themselves. What, in life, works that way? Nothing.

And I certainly don’t expect the book will sell without my effort, but what I want is to expose this book to as many people as possible, without draining my time and energy,  in the fastest way.  I need to figure that part out.

I want to have a book signing 

Yet, books signings are not always fun.

And...the reason is marketing. Booksellers usually put the signing in the local paper’s calendar section. But I’m not sure  how many people read that section any more, since so many people get their news online. Some bookstore owners may display the books with a poster or some visual to attract readers. 
But, some don’t.  And, bookstore owners may or may not put it on their website because they may or may not have one that they update more than once in a while. I always do a crazy blitzkrieg online marketing through social networks and my own data base. But not everyone on my list wants to or can attend the signing. Some of these things are really no ones “fault” just facts of the situation.

If little marketing was done or if the marketing was just not effective, when you actually show up for the signing, people come in and look at you, sitting with your books at a table. You feel a little like an orphaned puppy in need of an owner, and people look at you like they should come over and pet you, but they hesitate because they don’t want to take you home.

Right now I am trying to book myself  a signing, but it’s proving to be so difficult.  There appears to be an interest, but a hesitation to commit. Consignment isn’t really an option.  It’s a big pain in the ass.  I did that a lot the first two times. I had to purchase my books, and then sell them, and I am not good at the bookkeeping of that and wound up giving too many away or at too low of a discount. Some bookstores lost my books and never bothered to tell me.  I had to call or come in many times.  If they lost it,  I didn’t want to put up a fight. It seemed so ridiculous.

The reason I don’t consign any more is because my books all have the highly coveted returnability.  Highly coveted to a Print-On-Demand published author. Now that I have this returnability, there’s no difference between me and a regularly published author, from the book purchasers point of view.  The whole thing with return-ability is that many of us Print-On-Demand published authors have our books available with the big wholesalers that bookstore owners purchase from at a discount, like Ingrahm, but our books, historically, have not been able to be returned.  iUniverse, for a relatively low fee, allows its authors books (only the ones that are deemed qualified which means the well edited ones)  to be returnable.  Due to some errors (which have all been corrected) on the part of iUniverse through the process of publishing my recent book, they offered this to me for all three books at no cost.  Now every bookstore can house my book or have me be at a signing without worrying about purchasing books from me on consignment. They can order the books, and whatever is left over, send back to the distributor. In other words, it makes having me do a signing much easier and less of a pain in the butt.
This bookstore owner seems skeptical of my returnability.  If I was an author with a mainstream publisher and a publicist booking the signing, none of this would matter. None of this extra wasted time would happen–for me or for the bookseller.  The bookstore owner certainly doesn’t want to be calling publishers, etc.  This is a fact of the self-published author, not me being bitter.  It’s a fact I accept. I don’t blame the bookstore owners for being so conservative. But it makes all of this more difficult. 

A Party

So, I have decided that instead of launching this book at a bookstore, if I can’t get anyone to host me by the end of this week, I will have my own book party. Location and time to be announced.  But, you are all invited. : )

And...I think that this journey with this book will begin to shape into something that reflects where I am in my life.  My time and energy constraints will simply force me to narrow the focus on the things that work, that work with little struggle.

For example, I recently got a reply from one of my favorite, award winning authors, Alex Sanchez, who agreed to allow me the pleasure of sending him a copy of my new book. I admire and respect his work so much and just to have him say yes, means more than anything.  To me, this is the type of reaching out efforts I want to do with my book.  I also just sent a mini media kit with some of my books to a charity event.  This was little effort but felt good and right. So, I will step forward, one foot at a time, focused, eyes open. One reader at a time.  No struggle.