We Now Pause for This Message from the Ministry of Propaganda

We want you to sell. Sell, sell, sell! Don't come within ten feet of anybody without jumping down their throat with bookmarks, a nutshell synopsis, and the hardest press since the '86 Chicago Bears. Don't be shy! You are your own sales force.

Okay, now. Let's get real.

When I first came to publishing, lo these many years ago (ten, away), I had the naive idea that all I really had to do was write the books. Actually, that turns out to be only a portion of the job, and not even the majority. Much of being a working class novelist is devoted to the biz part: answering copyeditor queries, revising various drafts of various projects, parsing contracts with your agent, replying to reader e-mail (love that part), and attending to the myriad activities that fall squarely under the heading of self-promotion.

Never sit down at a book signing! Get out there and press some flesh. Have your friend run up and down the aisles witnessing. Block the book store's exits if you must!

The latter group can be, if you allow it, completely consuming. I've watched new authors self-combust as they try to do everything, be everywhere, and spend every cent of their advance (or more) buying and distributing tchotchkes, advertising in magazines with a circulation of about 12, hiring publicists, etc.. Convinced success will lie under any unturned stone, these fledging authors spend so much time, effort, and money in this area that they neglect to give their all to work in progress.

And quite naturally, disaster ensues.

Don't forget web presence! You're gonna need the fanciest web site you can swing. And book preview videos! Newsletters with great graphics! A mailing list! And for that extra-special personal touch, be sure and send out birthday greeting to each potential or past customer!

For a while, I've been fairly minimalistic in my self-promotion efforts. Slacker! I do book club or speaking engagement here and there - drawing the line at those that cost me money or too much time away from writing. I do a few book signing per release, choosing those stores with which I've had a positive prior experience. I advertise in Romance Sells, a preview mag (developed by RWA) sent to librarians and booksellers for a reasonable cost. I blog at those reader-oriented sites that ask me. And once in a blue moon, I order myself a sparkling new set of bookmarks.

Bookmarks? Why not postcards? Coffee mugs? Chocolates stamped with your book's likeness? Surely you can't just stop at bookmarks!

Sure you can. It's nice having a little something to send out to readers and booksellers who request things. I also love having something to put into the hands of people who ask about my writing or to hand out at places where I'm speaking. Plus, with the rise of online printers, you can design your own and have them made and delivered very inexpensively. (I paid about $60 for 1000 of the double color-sided, glossy bookmarks you see here from Gotoprint.com.) And all you really need is something with the title and cover of your new book, your name, printed backlist, and a website. That's plenty.

What do you mean that's plenty? As in enough? There's never enough! There never can be?

So what do you do or plan to do to silence the screeching voices (which are, to be fair, mostly in your own head) from the Ministry of Propaganda? How do you manage to keep your focus on the writing?

The etiquette of connection

Yesterday I promised to post a few thoughts about connection etiquette, and I was initially envisioning a few simple rules of engagement, but I think I can best illustrate the big picture by offering an example of the best and worst ways to get the most from networking opportunities. Long story short:

Wrong
A while back I found myself at a party with someone I'm absolutely gaga over -- I try not to drop names but -- oh, hell, it was Nathan Lane. (I was a theatre major, people. Nathan Lane is every theatre major's demigod.) After agonizing over my cocktail for forty minutes, I decided that it was very important for Nathan Lane to know that I am the only person on this earth who could, who should -- who must -- ghost his memoir. How many times in this incarnation was I going to be in the same room with Nathan Lane? What kind of limp biznaz woman am I if I can't go in for the networking op? Okay. On three. I'm goin' in.

"Hi, Nathan..."

A bevy of admirers hovered around him like a crown of Santa Lucia flowers. He looked up at me and smiled. "Do I know you?"

"I'm Joni Rodgers. I just think you're wonderful and -- and I would love to do you. I'm very good. Loving but firm. I think you'd be really satisfied with the experience."

The bevy of flower boys giggled knowingly. Nathan nervously fingered his ascot. (Shut up! Nathan Lane can wear an ascot if he bloody well wants to.)

"Oh...oh, no," I stammered like a big hot trannie mess. "I mean -- I -- see, I'm a ghost writer..."

"Ah. Well, you certainly have a way with words."

He slid a wise side-glance back to his bevy, leaving me deservedly burned. But, hey, hon -- burned by Nathan Lane. It hurt so good.

Right
Later on that same evening, I sought out a quiet space where I could kick off my shoes and sit for a moment. I didn't notice the little girl in the corner until she piped up, "What are you writing?"

"Oh, I just had some thoughts about a story I'm working on." I nodded to the book in her hand. "What are you reading?"

"Island of Blue Dolphins," she said, "but I just finished."

"And you're not weeping? That book always left me utterly destroyed."

We fell into an impassioned conversation about this book and several other favorites we had in common. She was quite the precocious reader for her age -- which was eleven, and we had quite the conversation about that, too. A girl entering her double digit years in Hollywood. Scary. But she had her head on remarkably straight.

"Oh! There's my dad," she said after we'd been talking for over an hour. I looked up and immediately recognized her extremely recognizable father. She introduced us, and he acted duly impressed when she said, "Joni is a writer and she's read all the Lucy Maud Montgomery books."

"You're raising an excellent young woman here," I told him, and he asked me about my kids, and we kibitzed about that and then segued into a project he was working on, and then he asked me about my books. When I mentioned the memoir I wrote about chemo, he said that someone close to him had recently been diagnosed with lymphoma, and we talked about that for a while. It's my least favorite area of expertise, but I'm happy to help newbie lymphomaniacs and their families whenever I can. Noticing his little girl nodding off in her chair, he got up to go and asked for my card.

The major player. Asked for my card. Ah, I thought, that's how it's done.

It's not about following rules of engagement or sporting the brassiest balls. It's about genuinely caring about other people, listening with sincere interest in what they have to say. I got in Nathan Lane's face with no thought other than what I wanted from him. The other contact grew out of an organically friendly connection and left a far, far better impression.

Monday in her excellent post on the "To Be Read" blog, Colleen asked about readers' first encounter with a published author. Mine was memorable: Pulitzer Prize winner A. B. Guthrie was doing a tour for what would be his last book, and I took my husband's first edition copy of The Big Sky to the Little Professor bookstore in Helena, Montana for him to sign. Friends, I was the only one there. A Pulitzer Prize winning author, and he was sitting there in a rocking chair by himself. Sensing that he was a little bummed, I sat there and chatted for about two hours. Because this was years before I had any notion of being a writer myself, I had zero agenda; I was just keeping this nice old guy company because he was stuck sitting there and he'd written this book my husband loved.

I've looked back on that wide-ranging conversation as I've found my creative path, and so many things we talked about have taken on new meaning. I can't describe how grateful I am to have had that opportunity. Mr. Guthrie could have easily been parumphed about the poor showing for his signing -- or about the fact that I was such a gork I didn't buy a book! -- but he was gracious and funny. The conversation was organic; even the small talk felt from the heart.

This is what established authors have to offer newbies: the benefit of experience. We can't offer an "in". We cannot, for legal reasons, read an unpublished manuscript. We cannot, for reasons too numerous to mention, introduce you to our agents or editors. It's not appropriate to ask. Too often, newbies focus on these things and completely miss out on the encouragement, compassion, and school-of-hard-knocks education that established authors are more than willing to share. And in the big picture, therein lies the true value of the connection.

Exposure vs. Overexposure: Thoughts on Self-Promotion

This morning, I read an essay -- an "open letter to Cormac McCarthy" by Don Graham of Texas Monthly magazine -- that made me roll my eyes. In it, Graham chastizes iconic author Cormac McCarthy (whose work I love, despite the copious bloodshed) for making the transition from invisible recluse to real-and-public person. Basically, Graham prefers his literary idols to remain mute and hidden, devoted purely to their art rather than the pursuit of celebrity (or even book sales.)

Since lately, I've been scheduling book signings and visiting book clubs that have read my most recent release and since I've cut my authorly teeth on the message "Promote! Promote! Promote!" (ad nauseum), Graham's preference for keeping his favorite author on a pedestal at first annoyed and then perplexed me. But after thinking about it for a while, I finally got it. And I understood as well that even for working-stiff authors of popular fiction, there's a fine line between exposure and over-exposure.

To my mind, exposure's a good thing when the author respects his/her audience. I like meeting with "real readers" because I enjoy getting to know the people and hearing about their reading tastes. When they're curious, as they often are, I chat with them about the writing process and the world of publishing. I happily share advice for their creative writer nephew or neighbor or spouse when asked (as I almost invariably am, since everyone on the planet apparently knows an aspiring novelist). I learn as much from these meetings as anyone, and I try to use that education to build better future books. I write about my writing to give interested readers background tidbits and because it helps me understand my own process more clearly. Sure, I want to sell more copies. That's what allows me to keep writing. But I never forget that readers can smell someone talking down to them a mile off.

While I don't feel Cormac McCarthy's guilty of this sin, I've seen over-exposure happen when an author loses sight of the needs of the reader. Hucksterism or the pursuit of fame takes root and writers become obnoxiously hyper-competitive. At times, authors can get so caught up in "moving product," they bludgeon potential "pigeons" with their message. They make repeated "drive-by" postings on bulletin boards or listserves or other people's blogs without bothering to try to get to know the other participants. Their every communication is a in-your-face sound byte of self-promotion. They ignore or put down the achievements of other authors in an attempt to elevate themselves, and they only show up for events within the writing community where they are personally being honored. They come off as self-absorbed and selfish. Because they often are.

So how do you like your authors? Friendly and approachable? Omnipresent? Reclusive? Does it matter to you? And to your taste, what types of self-promotional behavior cross the line?

PR pirates: how to blip the radar screen

Stranded on the tarmac in Orlando this aft, I finally had time to read through some articles I'd been storing on my trusty laptop. Seems to me this item from Poets & Writers was sent to me by a fellow working girl after a conversation about how midlist authors can catch some of the free PR that flows so freely to our industry betters.

In "Literary Journalists: How to Get on Their Radar", Jen A. Miller writes:

Those authors savvy about acting as their own publicists also probably know, as any good (and not-so-good) publicist does, that freelance writers are invaluable contacts. Of the 320,000 editors and writers working in the United States, the U.S. Department of Labor estimates that one-third are independently employed. That's more than 100,000 of us freelancers out there, searching for the next great story...The author-freelancer connection can be fruitful for both parties. So how can literary writers align themselves with freelancers? Not all freelancers are the same, of course, but knowing who we are, what we do, what we're looking for, and when, can help you on your way to forging that connection.

Miller goes on to give some great advice about where freelancers can be found and how to approach them. Click here to read the article in its entirety.

The Siren Call of Hysterical Self-Promotion

I sold my first novel back in 1998 (though this historical romance came out in May of '99), and at the time, I was eager -- make that obsessed -- with doing everything within my power to make certain it succeeded. Part of this was due to the fact that I had some time on my hands. Though I was working what would become my second book, the long lead times and the infusion of energy from *finally* getting The Call, along with my introduction to a fresh-faced and equally manic number of other young writers, combined to convince me that self-promotion was the key.

I pulled out all the stops and threw myself into a phase I've come to call "Hysterical Self-Promotion." I built my own website, spoke every place that would have me, lined up signings out the wazoo, penned articles, dredged up enough cash to place an ad in Romantic Times, and forced myself (not easy, since I'd mostly been in the closet about writing) to tell as many people as I could about my impending *authordom*.

I hope this fervor was regarded with the fond smiles of forbearance one would reserve for a large and overly-enthusiastic puppy. That's the way I look at it when I see other new authors succumbing to the same siren song. And to be fair, all this gushing excitement is WAY more attractive than those cynical and jaded hacks who rain all over everyone's parade with their torrents of bitter disappointment. (Note to self: Quit the business before crushing hopes and dreams of starry-eyed newcomers.)

A dozen sales later, I still do some self-promotion. In the competitive world of writing single-title, mass market paperback romantic suspense, I feel the pressure to do something to help get my name out to both readers and others working in the industry. Such activities have their place, but that place, IMHO, needs to be the back seat to the continued production of damned good stories.

Over time, I've developed a few rules to help guide my efforts:

Never again will I blow my entire advance (and then some, in one particularly dim-witted case) on more self-promo than I can afford. These days I set a strict budget, which amounts to no more than 10% of my advance. Less, when I feel I can get away with it.

Never again will I do stuff I sincerely hate doing. (Namely, in my case, aggressively "pushing" my books on the profoundly-disinterested. I'd never make a decent living in used car sales either.) If you're so shy, you stink at booksignings, don't do them. The results will be painful for everyone involved. If you despise public speaking, you probably won't be good at it. (As a former teacher, I love teaching, so I don't mind at all speaking to groups of writers. But even so, I have to honestly ask myself what's in it for me each time I'm invited.)

Never again will I dis-count my own time as part of the cost factor. This is the one that still gives me the most trouble. I frequently forget that my time on this planet is not an endlessly-refilling well. Time spent on self-promotion activities takes time from my writing (which had better be a priority), my family (which really is a priority), my other obligations (my next life needs to come with a staff), and my chance for rest and relaxation. If I cut short any one of these at the expense of self-promotion, my quality of life -- as well as my work -- suffers.

So how much self-promotion is too much? Are you finding yourself feeling pressured to spend hours "friending" folks on MySpace or spend your hard-earned earnings on schemes of questionable value? Where do you draw the line on the pressure to package not only your work but yourself for the consumer? And do you ever long -- as Dean Koontz's wonderful character Odd Thomas puts it -- for a simple life selling tires to folks who need them?