Yesterday I bottomed out.
I'd been trudging, trudging, trudging along in the promotion of my new novel until I could trudge no more. I sat on the couch, the birds twittering outside (actually twittering, as opposed to Twittering), as my brains leaked out the holes in my head, which tends to happen after fifteen years of knocking one's head against the wall until that final epiphany of exactly how much I, as the author, am expected to do in order to promote my book.
How much, you ask?
Sound familiar? Of course it does. We authors of The Here and Now are all in the same cliched boat of earning our Ph.D.s in marketing, preferably within six months or less. (Can you hear that? It's the sound of heads knocking even harder against that brick wall.)
Then comes along a fine piece by Ellis Weiner in the New Yorker about this very predicament. It's a funny article. A hilarious spoof. A poignant ha-ha at the uproarious nature of how much fun life can be when, instead of working on your next book, you find yourself writing press releases at 3 a.m.
I especially like the part about "try to post at least one photo of you per hour doing everyday tasks around your house, such as answering comments and posting photos."
Happy marketing— I mean, writing!
Tresspassers - caught in the act!
1 week ago