Wacky Writer Wednesday - Promotion Paralysis

Watch out - awkward landing ahead!!

I love this job...but sometimes it asks so much of me. I'm writing some thoughts today, so I've recorded them for the next time this causes me angst...and in case anyone else experiences these crippling horrors.

I have a book coming out. I thought I loved it, a few people I know read it and did. Then a few raised their eyebrows when I said it was MMF. Then a reviewer contacted me with praise, I stupidly went to read some reviews where there was no praise. OMG. 

My book is $5.99 which I consider a lot of money, and I keep asking myself, "How do I ask anyone to fork out. $6 for a book they might hate?" And yet, plenty of times I've spent $30 on a paperback or hardback I've hated. I've just passed it to someone I think might like it...but you can't do that with an ebook. You 'waste' your money. And shit, I don't want people wasting their money.

But I spent months writing and rewriting and editing my book. My publisher has invested too. So it can't be too dreadful, can it? But I'm so paralysed. I can't remember why I loved it, or even liked it. I can barely remember what inspired it. And I have to promote it. With all this shit tonne of self doubt,  I'm supposed to sprout forth about how wonderful my book is.

Closest thing I had to a chicken baring her soul!

Why the heck do I have to do that? Because it's part of my job.

I didn't sign up for this part. I signed up to write. This part is paralysing. 

I'm trying to look at what others do to promote their books, but God, I'm either intimidated because they're so confident, or revolted because they're overly confident and loud.

Me...I'm hiding in my corner, flicking out a few postcard things and hoping they'll find some target. You know, by magic. 

I know it won't happen like that because it's not how social media works. 

I have to be social, engage, oh god, and not hate myself afterwards. Not second guess every comment I've ever made. Not rue every person who doesn't acknowledge me. Not wonder if people hate me because they have kids and I write about sex.

Dear god. It's a minefield and I'm too bloody scared to take a step, wondering if every foot step will blow up beneath me.

And then I read someone's new book, and it's awesome and I'm even more paralysed. Or it's dreadful and I wonder why they're successful and I'm not (promotion, I know!). 

And I don't know why I'm in this game. But it's not a game. I want to take it seriously, which means I need to put my big girl knickers on and shove this self doubt some place deep inside, and find my mojo. Find my kick arseness. Find my extroverted self. Even though I'm sure I've never had those things in my life.

Fuck. I have a book out.

I've never been more insecure in my life.