My high school band sold fruitcakes to raise money for band trips. We went door to door in our neighborhood (wearing our band uniforms on a Saturday morning) extolling the merits of those creations from the south Georgia pecan belt. I hated every minute of it.
Now the publisher of my novels has gifted me with a promotion (a priceless gem these days when most books are self-promoted). Friday, June 13, the first day of the promotion, you can buy the Kindle edition of my latest novel, Tender Shadows, for $1.99. The next day, Saturday, June 14, Tender Shadows sells for $2.99. Sunday, June 15, the price is $3.99. Then it goes back to the still reasonable price of $4.99.
I’m trying, am I not? But I still cringe when faced with marketing. Marketing asks people to give up something, usually money, but also time, perhaps even more precious.
Why would someone choose to expend these precious commodities to read my novels or write reviews of them or even read my blogs? Given the new world created by the internet, novels proliferate like eighteenth century political tracts. Blogs are as prevalent as misty droplets in a Seattle winter.
Nevertheless, unless you are as famous as Stephen King, you do it. Authors write. Authors sell.
One thing in my favor: I don’t like fruitcake, but I love to read. And write.