(Published June 1, 2009)
Well, the weekend in Detroit Lakes, Minnesota could have been worse. I mean, in addition to selling only a handful of books (which is quite depressing), it could have rained both Saturday and Sunday. God at least spared the deluge until late Sunday. But the weekend still turned out to be very trying.
Sitting in my little white EZ Up enclosure, hawking my writing to strangers, is a very vexing circumstance. I was the kid who didn’t like to sell Little League candy bars door-to-door so promoting my books to the world isn’t easy. There are other regional authors, like Bill Durbin and Tom Chapin, who are masters of the sales pitch. I’m not. I’m by nature a coward and so, selling my work is the least enjoyable aspect of this little adventure of self-publishing that I find myself on.
At this point in the game, nine years after the publication of my first novel, The Legacy and eight years into self-publishing, it is time for a serious assessment of whether or not the world needs my words. I’ve exhausted myself. Exhausted my bank account. Exhausted my family’s patience. The ego can only prop up the body so long. Maybe it is time to admit that self-publishing is a delusion, much like mainstream publishing, in that only a chosen few ever become successful at this game.
I’ll rest a tad (when I’m not at my real job) before starting the charade all over again next weekend. During my spiritual recuperation, I’ll contemplate whether I am too old, too battered, too egocentric to ride this horse into the barn.
Stay tuned.
Peace.
Mark
