Marketing. Marketing. Marketing. Everyone’s going on about this “marketing” nonsense. If you’re a self-published author like me, then you’ve no doubt heard this word over, and over, and over again.
I’ve tried marketing. Turns out, either there is a secret that the pros aren’t telling, or I’m bad at it.
I’ve tried Amazon ads. It’s really hit and miss.
I’ve done Goodreads giveaways, but it ended up just costing me money to buy the books and then ship those books to the winners.
I’ve sent dozens of emails to book bloggers asking for reviews.
Is it working? I don’t know. I don’t think so. I haven’t seen that spike in sales. Should I pay the hundreds of dollars to put my book on Net Galley or similar sites? Odds are I won’t make that money back.
I’m hoping my next book will push me out of the indie waters a bit. It’s a bit more eye-catching, or I’d like to think it is. I’ll be doing more pre-sale things with this one. I mean, what’s not to love about steampunk, pirates, romance, and magic? I just hope this book is as good as I’m making it out to be. If not, those few readers will let me know.
The fantasy market is flooded to biblical proportions, and it’s so subjective that it feels like I’m throwing darts at an inch-wide target from a hundred yards away, blindfolded.
Anyone else ever feel this way?
I’m not sure how else to throw myself into the reading world other than throwing free copies of my book at people, begging them to read and leave a review and to tell all their friends to go buy a copy.
Indie writer blues, man. Good thing I’ve got this awesome day job. I get to sit and stare at all the published books come and go and wonder how the fudge some of those get read when my book, pretty and clean, just sits on the shelf.
Bitter? No, I’m not bitter. Depressed, maybe.
It happens when your career is lying flat on the ground and the guy you went on that date with won’t return your texts.
Beatrice B. Morgan 