You'll Never See Me Sitting Behind a Card Table Selling a Stack of My Books...

By -

The title says it all:  You'll never see me sitting behind a card table selling a stack of my books. It's akin to not being asked to dance at the eighth grade graduation party and trying to appear just fine with sitting alone in the bleachers. Why set myself up for the imagined face-to-face rejection?

And there we have it. I predict rejection where others have higher expectations. A friend recently completed a book tour of Western Montana - she prefers to call it a drive-about where she visited friends and family along the way, set up in community centers or churches, greeted folks, and sold some books. I'd like to be her when I grow up.

But for now, I drive around with four copies of my novel in the back of my Subaru (note the dust) in case someone spontaneously asks to buy my book.

My marketing plan needs work.



Comments

  1. marie8/22/2013

    My boxes of books hide in my office closet. They too are getting dusty.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Busyness vs. Calm

By -
Image
I was driving down snow-covered Star Meadow Road Monday morning in a slight panic. I dug blindly in my bag for the list of Christmas gifts to buy and errands to complete in between yoga, a meeting at 11:30, dinner with a friend at 5:30 (we’re old), and finally another meeting at 6:30. Mustn’t forget to drop off my critique pages at Marie’s, I thought. Now where was that pen I stashed in the console… I’m retired. We live near a resort town that currently looks like a tranquil Christmas card. How can I be this busy? Star Meadow Road  – Photo courtesy of Mike Coleman A huge bird—a golden eagle—flew over my car, filling the windshield and making me flinch. His flapping wings appeared jointed in five places each and nearly spanned the narrow road. He flew low and slowly in front of my moving car, hunting along Star Meadow Road the way I’ve seen eagles follow rivers. We traveled at 30 mph, swooping downhill for a mile or more until he banked to the right, and I lost him in snow-laden
Read more

Is This the Year?

By -
Image
Spring came early to NW Montana in 2015. February resembled a typical April on our hilltop, and today, only a few snowy patches remain in the forest. The bald ground on which I’m thinking about building a studio asks me,  So is this the year you build it?            Potential studio building site I’ve always wanted a separate studio in which to write, work on craft projects and not have to clean them up until finished, practice yoga, or take a quiet nap. But mostly a place of my own to write. My current office is a lovely space filled with my treasures. It is also the guestroom and repository for furniture and lamps that don’t fit anywhere else in the house. Why am I dragging my feet on the studio project? The answer woke me a 5:00 a.m. If I own a writing studio, then writing becomes an official and committed relationship. Having finished the first draft of my third novel just this week, the time is ripe to accept the fact… My name is Ann, and I’m a writer. Happy Spring!
Read more

I Don't Know What I Think Until I Write It Down

By -
Image
I attended a women’s retreat on the banks of beautiful Flathead Lake yesterday. About sixty of us discussed spirituality in all its loose forms and how we might demonstrate our personal beliefs in daily life. I was struck by the importance of writing in the process. We wrote letters to ourselves to be opened at next year’s retreat, and time to journal was built into the schedule. As soon as I could print, I recorded my thoughts and feelings on paper. I’ll reread all my old journals one day, and for that implausible reason I can’t bring myself to burn or toss them. All those intimate self-revelations are part of me. Truthfully, sometimes I don’t know what I think until I write it down. One Saturday among women from all backgrounds reinforced my belief that my writing today started with journaling. My work represents far more than stories. It represents what I have to give back. ~ Ann (First appeared on montanawomenwriters.com )
Read more