Sometimes we get so buried in our worries and To Do lists and doubts of our sanity that we can’t see past the glass of white wine in our hands. No, change those pronouns. I, my. No use playing Wise Woman to the world. No use not admitting that I found myself in a really deep funk for a couple of months, a period that included self-medicating to no good end, just morning headaches.
I blamed my bad outlook on the completion of a goal, the paperback publication of Graffiti Grandma
, not necessarily a good thing, it turned out. Because what was next was the ghastly marketing siege that occasionally brought on nightmares involving flaming computer keys and missing fingers and daymares of me tossing my onerous efforts into a bottomless internet abyss, hearing, “Shit. Here she comes again.”
So I explained to my friends that what I loved most was writing, not the marketing. I didn’t really, really, care that Amazon had sold only four copies of Graffiti Grandma
, probably a record of some kind. I began Edith
and inched my way through a first draft.
I sold a few more copies to Rotary club members who responded in their helpful ways to my husband’s description of his clever wife’s accomplishment. I think what inspired his support was the box of books he stumbled over every time he walked into our clothes closet. The box emptied. But then Createspace, in some kind of perverted promotion, surprised me with twenty free Graffiti Grandma
s. The box remains in the closet. Rotary can only do so much good.
However, last week something kind of miraculous happened. Trolling through my emails I found one that seemed to be saying that I and Graffiti Grandma
had been chosen to be spotlighted in the Kirkus Review publication. Would I be interested? “Will it cost me money?” I asked. I am suspicious of out-of-the-blue miracles. “No. This is for the promotion of your book which, as you know, got a very good Kirkus review. In fact, the reviewer will be contacting you soon.”
And he did. And he’s writing the piece as I write this blog, my first in months.
But the miracle is what the miracle did for me. Yesterday, in a surge of self-confidence, I started a list of ways I could promote my book–locally, not to strangers in the ether: Readings in coffee shops, discussions at book clubs, gatherings in retirement homes, classes in writing at Senior Centers. I would approach the books stores that have Graffiti Grandma
on their shelves and ask to be included on their readings schedules. I would ask for reviews from the readers of the book who could give it at least three stars. I would spend the money I’d save by eliminating my medicinal wine to purchase reviews from publications that charge (like Kirkus ) for the privilege of critiquing it to thousands of people.
Well, maybe not the wine part. The reviews cost a lot more than the wine and I do like a celebratory glass once in a while, after a busy day of checking off items on this new To Do list.