I think all of this marketing stuff is starting to get to me. I’m obsessed with my book sales lately. I want so badly for my books to be successful, and I don’t know how to create more exposure. Everywhere I go, all I want to talk about is my book and how I can earn more readers. I want to tell everyone I see to buy my book. I feel like I’m slowly transforming into some kind of bookselling vampire. Instead of bloodlust I have saleslust. “Look at that guy in that fancy car over there. I’ll bet he can afford to buy a book. Maybe I should follow him. See where he’s going. Stalk him into a dark alley somewhere and pounce!”
No. I control it. It doesn’t control me.
I’m so preoccupied that I can’t help but look around everywhere I go and wonder if any of the people I see would like my book. If only they’d try it, I think. If only they’d open it up and read the first few pages…I’m sure they’d be hooked. I only need to find a way to convince them…to transform them into my loyal fans… The world is suddenly filled with unwitting victims…I mean…potential customers…who just need a little…encouragement. “Look how bored our waiter looks… I bet he’d like to hear about a good book. What about that guy at the next table? Or the woman he’s with? The hostess? Probably not those ladies in the corner…they’re like eighty…the sex scene in chapter eight would probably kill them…”
I’m not sure if I can continue to restrain myself. The kid at the checkout lane asks me if I’d like paper or plastic and I want to scream, “Buy my book!” But I control myself. I contain it. The woman at the post office asks me if I want insurance on that package. In my head I scream, “Buy my book! Buy it!” Aloud, I simply say, “No thank you.” I went to the library yesterday… Oh god… All those readers…everywhere I looked…reading…right there in front of me… I couldn’t control myself. “Buy my book! Buy it! You’ll love it! It’s good! Just read my reviews!” Luckily, nobody heard me because I was only whispering. (It was a library, after all.) I then decided I should probably escort myself out of the building before I embarrassed myself.
In what could be perceived as my most shameless act of self-promotion ever, I taught my five-year-old daughter to say, “Please read my daddy’s book!” She’s actually quite good at it. She’s so proud of this talent, in fact, that the moment she lays eyes on my book, she will immediately snatch it out of your hands, step back and shout her lines. I’ve been threatening to put her on You-Tube for weeks now…