Full disclosure: I hate to sell. Not products. I hate to sell myself. In any capacity. I can dream up marketing campaigns, copywrite like a fiend, craft product selling points, manage to get some decent graphic design work done.
But when it comes to me? Gosh, let’s not and say we did.
So naturally it was a surprise when I got the impulse to design a cover for my novel A Twisted Faire. The cover had to be whimsical, show some assets of the novel, and also have this sense of ominous goings-on. I managed, on Twitch to viewers’ macabre pleasure, to get it done in a record amount of time. It was a delicious undertaking I enjoyed.
So, in a moment of blinding “why the hell not”, I announced to my facebook friends and followers that I’d be posting up the entire book for sale in a matter of weeks when I was done editing it for the bajillionth time. As I said to my friend Amanda Johnston, author of the Anthem series (check out her books, they’re great), I was ready for the crickets. The crickets we, as authors, dread. We all get them.
Cue the panic when so many friends and family began to like and comment on the post. More than I expected. It wasn’t crickets. It was people who wanted my book.
The momentary “let’s just see” has now turned into a “guess I’d better publish this book now” and I’m scrambling to get it ready for release.
See, this is why you need a sense of arrogance when it comes to your writing. You need that sense of “why the hell not” and “this is good. Someone else will like it”. Because if you are like me, then you might hold onto things too long.
It got me to thinking… impulsively, to ‘try the system out’. I whipped up a cover, took one of my more polished manuscripts, and released it as a romance novel on Draft2Digital. It hit ‘shelves’ and I’m nervous over it. But that hesitancy to hold on to work that I knew wouldn’t find a home is gone.
Suddenly I want my books read.
Suddenly I’m excited to write again. I’m not worried about what books get read, who purchases what.
It’s just exciting to feel like my books matter, even a little bit, to some people.