It Ain’t Easy….

November 20, 2008 · Posted in General, Writing · 2 Comments 

A lot of times when I first tell someone that I’ve written a book, I get the same response: “Well, you’ve done the hard part, now you just have to sell it,” — or some variation thereof.  It seems to be a common perception that, because everyone wants to write a book but can’t get it out, the creative process must be the hardest part.

I like talking to people about the book, but I do want to get one thing out of the way once and for all:  Writing the book was one of the easiest things I’ve done in my life.  It was time consuming, and in some ways even a little painful, but putting the words to paper just came naturally, as I’m sure it does for a lot of writers.

Selling it, on the other hand…

If you’ve never tried to start a business from scratch, you probably won’t understand what’s so hard about it.  I know I didn’t — send out a few emails to agents or publishers, and bam!  You’re an overnight success.  Well, you’ll get a couple of rejection letters, but bear with them and, if there’s any advice in them then take it and move on.  Simple, right?

Yep, that’s what I thought when I started this game, but, in case you haven’t made the connection yet, I want to let you in on a little secret: it ain’t that easy.

I’ve had times in my life where I was unemployed, beating the pavement in a suit and tie with a stack of resumes in one hand, trying to find anyone that would hire me.  That was pretty rough stuff, but it’s a walk in the park compared to trying to convince someone to take the time to read a book.  Seriously, have you ever tried walking for a few miles, in desert heat, a black suit, and dress shoes?  Not pleasant.  But you do what you gotta do.

I’m taking a similar walk right now, though I’m finding a lot more closed doors than there were that summer I needed a job.  And I’m probaby making it harder on myself, because — to keep with the analogy, kinda — I’m also holding up a sign to the street saying “Will work for food.”  Okay, that might be a bit of an overkill, but I’m trying to get my foot in the door on one side and sell the book to the general public on the other.  All without a budget or a clue.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m having the time of my life; it’s a strange mix of misery and ecstasy, waiting to see what each day brings.  For the most part, I guess I’m looking to apologize in a way, or at least seek understanding, from some people I’ve surely annoyed over the past couple of weeks.

I’ve been trying to push Like Glass harder than anything I’ve ever done, and in doing so, I’ve probably pushed it a little too hard in some areas.  And if I’ve come across as pushy, or needy, or even desperate, I’m damned sorry.  There isn’t anyone else out there doing the work for me though.  There isn’t a marketing company trying to get the book in a radio spot or a newspaper spot.  No one’s putting displays up at Barnes and Nobles with a rose on a black background.  It’s all me, and I can only think of so many avenues to go that seem viable and modestly simple before I start repeating myself in the same venues.  As I write this, I can’t even budget a few bucks for a simple pay-per-click campaign.

Damn, I hope I don’t sound like I’m asking for pity here — I’m not.  Like I said, just seeking some understanding from anyone I might’ve pissed off recently.  Anyone else who’s tried to sell a book, or start any kind of business from the ground up surely understands.  There isn’t anyone else out there who gives a crap whether you sink or swim, so you got to fight for yourself.  If you’re lucky enough to have something to back you — a publisher, a bankroll, whatever — then you can rest a little bit.  If not, you start to get that wild look in your eyes wondering what the hell you’re doing wrong, hitting the refresh button on your web-visit stats hoping for that one visitor who might actually buy it.  It’s terrible, but exhilirating at the same time.

Okay, I hope that makes sense somehow.  If not, well, I got it off my chest a little so I can relax for a while ;)

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Shattered Update; Now on Facebook

September 23, 2008 · Posted in General, Writing · Comment 

Haven’t written anything here in a while, so I figured I’d drop a quick status report here.

Shattered, the sequel to Like Glass (or, at least that’s my working title for it), is coming along fairly smoothly.  I have seven chapters out of roughly 50 (that’s a mathematical estimate — using the average word count so far and my minimum goal of 80K words.  It may end up being more or less, based on how the story goes; I’m not far enough along to know yet).  So far it’s moving a long; there’s been a couple of minor bouts of writer’s block, but I’ve gotten past them.  Had a little bit today, but I think that’s mainly because I’m just tired.

Aside from that, I’m now on Facebook, for whatever that’s worth.  Drop me a comment if you happen to need an extra person filling your friend block, and I’ll look you up ;) .  I’m still trying to figure my way around there, so if anyone has any suggestions, I’m all ears. (And if anyone knows the best way to link to my own profile, please let me know — I’m not sure whether the URL in the address bar when I’m logged in is good for that, or if there’s some generic one I’m missing.)

Okay, I need to run and figure out how to waste the next half hour.

Update: If you didn’t notice, I figured out the Facebook thingy — check the side bar.

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I Am Not A Writer

January 7, 2008 · Posted in Writing · Comment 

(Originally posted on http://mcory.wordpress.com on 12/20/07)

In total contradiction of the epiphany I wrote of yesterday, I think I won’t call myself a writer. I actually received some comments on that post — a modestly rare occurrence — that incited quite a bit of thought last night. I have two reasons behind it, one admittedly a little petulant in it’s start, though I’ve since come to honestly agree with it, the other a bit more rational.

The first reason was most definitely inspired by the comments yesterday of Mr. Cliff Burns, particularly this:

“The terms ‘writer’ and ‘author’ confer status because we associate them with great artists and storytellers from down through the ages.”

There was much more to his comments, and I beseech you to read through them — he does make decent points. Regardless, this particular sentence stood out in my mind. It’s very true, what he says, and I can completely understand that trying to associate one’s self with the likes of all the great writers of the past is quite wrong.

That much I could live with though, as I wouldn’t feel as if I were putting myself on the same level as Poe or Melville or Steinbeck or anyone. There are also, however, quite a large number of writers in this world who do have the arrogance I spoke of yesterday, that “you can’t call yourself a writer because <blah>.” By calling myself a writer, true, I’m associating myself with some of the greatest names in history; however, I’m also associating myself with the likes of those people who have too much pride to let anyone else into the little clique.

And, by the definition I’d given yesterday, I’d also be associating myself with people like Hitler (who actually has published more than many who call themselves writers, myself included), and I’m sure quite a few others who no one would ever want to be clumped in with under the same title.

(Yes, you may cry Godwin’s Law)

That’s my petty, immature “inner child” talking. I don’t like him much, but sometimes I can’t control him. Well, I could, but sometimes it’s just more fun to let him take the reigns. The second reason I hope you’ll find less childish.

What is the point of calling one’s self a writer? There is no practical reason, regardless of whether one is worthy of the title or not. It’s purely psychological, giving yourself an identity of any kind. I say this not in terms of profession, as calling yourself a writer has marketing potential behind it (”marketing” might be a bit of a strong word for what I mean, but I hope you get the point).

If I call myself a writer, all it does is make me feel better about myself. It gives me a little psychological foundation to stand on so I can get through the day, since that’s something that I want — I want to make my living by writing, I want to study the craft, I want to get that thrill from bringing a story to the close I’d had in mind on a daily basis.

What I call myself has no bearing on any of that. Calling myself a writer does not give me a pen to write with (or a keyboard, as is most often my case). Calling myself a writer does not in itself give me that thrill I desire. If I wrote for the next twenty years, calling myself a writer would still give no benefit to my life.. None of that is related to what I call myself in the slightest.

In fact, what I call myself — whether it’s “writer” or something less controversial — has absolutely no bearing on the world anyways. I am me, not some label I decide to give myself, or that someone else decides to give me.

I am not a writer. I am a person who writes, and who loves writing. Likewise, I am not a software developer; I am a person who writes computer programs and websites, and enjoys it sometimes. I am not a musician, I’m a person who plays piano and writes music sometimes.

Right now, I’m a person who needs to get out and have his cigarette so he can get ready for work.

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