Neither as a whore, a politician, nor a fastfood novelty burger.
I’ve spent several years working through my first novel Flush. As hard as that was, writing was only half the battle. Apparently, I have to learn how to market. Not just my book, but myself.
I’ve been sitting around with crossed fingers waiting for my query letters to land an agent which is like my book being then winning lotto ticket.
“You have to sell yourself.” So they say. I really dislike selling anything.
How do I sell myself? With fishnet stockings and leopard-print hotpants, faux French perfume and knockoff Coach purse? Must I strut my stuff on a busy corner in the literary red-light district?
Or should I hop on a soapbox and orate how great my writing is? Should I campaign myself with slogans like “My Novel, Your Future” and say that it will change the course of humanity, though I know that it is little more than an intellectual hand jive and an expensive piece of tinder.
Should I get a billboard? And on it will read: At last – A wordburger that will kick the living shit out of your taste-buds.
Maybe I have to rethink this whole thing about selling-out or selling oneself. This will be difficult for me. I have to put myself out there which takes equal amounts of egotism and humility.
Take this blog for example. Stuffing it into a desktop folder for safekeeping does me no good. I must post it and put it out there. I also need to get all my earlier works of fiction revised and published which will be far easier than publishing Flush.
I realize now that I can’t just abracadabra my book into people’s hands. I have to go through this process.