roller coaster

Life is one big roller coaster: discuss  Certainly the process of being published fits that declaration.  The top of the literary ride was definitely the moment the email arrived from my publisher informing me she wanted to publish my novel.  I remained in that high place for many a week, experiencing an internal glow.  The glow gradually faded, to be replaced by something less heady but more reliable: an awareness of increased confidence and self belief where my writing was concerned.


Signing the contract, several days after agreeing to go with the publisher was a high moment.  Dips came when I realised more was expected of me in terms of social networking:  I should consider having an author's website, tweeting, facebooking etc.  I should add that there was no pressure to do any of these, just some advice along the lines of the more I did to promote my novel, the better it would sell.  Fair enough.


So I created an author's website, albeit in the knowledge that I had little to put in it, compared to grown up authors.  My professional life was not inundated with requests to review books and have mine reviewed, to give readings.   I wasn't always just about to attend an evening at a literary salon, or go to Waterstones to see another author sign copies of his/her book.  Nor was I spending copious amounts of time in a library conducting research for my next novel.  I wasn't doing any of these things.  Frankly, I was continuing with my everyday life, about which I often blog.

Creating the author's website turned out to be a pleasant experience, but more because of my ongoing interest in photography and colour combinations, than because of any worthy content which might transfer my website into a place that every respectable writer should regularly visit to absorb words of wisdom and deep thinking.  I was aware of having been left in the nursery.

Writing the jacket blurb was okay, infinitely easier than preparing a synopsis.  I enjoyed putting together a dedication and acknowledgements.

After all this there was a gap of several months, during which I began rewriting an earlier novel.  I didn't forget about my forthcoming publication, the feelings of self worth continued, but in the absence of day to day activity surrounding my book, it didn't always justify a position in the forefront of my mind - except when people asked me how my writing was progressing.  Going for the professional photo (see post of February 28: airbrushing) was a high if expensive moment.


Being interviewed by our local independent community newspaper was a highish if somewhat scary moment.  To date the interviews I'd had were from the safety of my writing desk.  (see post of April 1: imposter)


Giving two readings proved nervewracking, the first one more than the second.  (see post of March 10: performing).

I began the next ascent up the metaphorical roller coaster as the time approached to agree a book cover. I blogged about this process several days ago - how it assumed more importance than I would have considered possible.  And receiving a final cover that I loved took me to the top of the ride.  I remained there until publication day.  The last thing I did before going to be on Sunday night was to check Amazon in case the twenty four hour clock applied and my book was published.  It didn't apply.  The first thing I did on waking on Monday morning was - check on Amazon, and there it was.



And soon after, perhaps depressingly soon - I began to slip down the roller coaster again.  Why?  Because I realised that I would want to know how sales were doing and that this information wouldn't be readily forthcoming.  Communication with the helpful Kindle team on Amazon soon told me that sales info was currently only made available to publishers, not authors.  And such info I knew, wouldn't be passed on to me for several months.  Needless to say, I have urged Amazon to reconsider this, pointing out that authors need - I don't think this is too strong a word - to know how their books are selling, in the same way that an employee or a line manager or a chief executive needs to know how good their performance is.


During this week, I have been engaged in self-promotion through obvious and easy channels such as Twitter, LinkedIn, my author's website and blogging.  I have contacted various magazines etc to see if they would be prepared to promote my book.  Not unreasonably, those who have replied, require a fee for such work.  Which brings us to the maths:  for £20 spent on advertising my book, I would want to be assured of 20 sales, so that I at least break even.  Some replies have given me information on costs and informed me that my book can be advertised in their autumn issue.  I, of course, would like it to be advertised now - or yesterday, not four months away.  Which brings us to another practical problem: magazines, as are many businesses, are working in the future.  However, book covers, ISBN numbers, links to Amazon, aren't available much in advance.  In fact the Amazon link isn't released until the book itself is published.

Negotiating my way around websites which offer free listings is difficult for a computer-illiterate person such as myself.  I will continue to do so.  I will gently ask friends who have bought my book if they'd be prepared to review it on Amazon, and other places.

The lesson learned is, as are most lessons, I must find a balance between promoting my book and finishing the second one.  I mustn't become too hung up on checking Amazon to receive a glimpse of how I am doing - the 'like' button next to the book - currently with a figure of '3', suggests that three people have bought my book so far.  This may not be representative of sales -  I doubt it can be fewer than 3, and realise it could be more, if not significantly.  The biggest challenge of all, perhaps, is to view all this as a process, an ongoing journey, about becoming a stronger writer, a less ambivalent self-promoter, and about acquiring a persona which is independent of organisations, reviewers etc. etc.

Is this a bitter lesson, or an inevitable one?  Who knows?

Jane