I am an author, and I would like to stay an author. It's one of the things I feel called to do.
But to get published and stay published, publishers want you to be self-promoting. It's one of the things you hear over and over. Like in this interview with my friend who's an aquisitions editor at NavPress, and like my marketer at Group has brought up several times.
But though God has given me a love of writing, he has given me a loathing, a deep slimy loathing, of promoting. I hate it. I really do. I am the exact opposite of a marketer. And have you met many writers? We're not all exactly social whizzes, flitting about our finesse at the parties. Heck, I'm not even the one in the corner at the party. I'm the one at home in my old college T-shirt blissfully eating cereal from the box and watching What Not to Wear reruns.
And I like it that way.
So I find myself in a quandary. Do I shout my name from the rooftops. Do I start a web site devoted to me, Me, ME! Do I seek out as many public speaking opportunities as possible? Do I make this site: Clever Phrase Here: Amber Van Schooneveld Is So Hot Right Now! Do I Twitter my status to tens of adoring fans who want to know that I just clipped my toenails?
I would rather eat the mortar Mike is scrubbing on the floor right now. Yet I feel the pressure. They unholy pressure I create for myself: That tightening of the chest. What if I don't get out there and get mine? But also the justified pressure: Publishers can't abide hermit authors in a time when you hear of another publishing layoff every month.
It's not about getting mine. If the world passes me by, I'll be all the happier. But the two realities remain: I feel compelled to write, but I hate to promote.