Tweeting to the Choir?

Tweeting to the Choir?

Don’t get me wrong: I love singing in choirs, and I’m all about the mutual back-scratching that group support implies. In terms of publishing and social media, this means retweeting, following back, posting comments, inviting guests to contribute to blogs, or simply clicking the ol’ LIKE button. At the high end of the scale, this list includes downloading freebies or purchasing books, reading and posting reviews on Amazon.

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Over the past year, I’ve done all these things as often as I honestly could without lapsing into obsession. Well, okay, I admit I did become obsessed with socmed for several months—bewitched by its alleged potential for launching my self-published books beyond the circle of personal acquaintance. I craved a wider readership of people who’d never heard of me before. I wanted to launch off the ground, if not into the stratosphere.

If tweeting and posting could help me achieve that, then I was more than willing to try. I gave it my all.

At one point, Twitter suspended me for seeking new followers “too aggressively.” Even then, I made an effort to exchange individual messages and welcome every new follower who joined my flock. For weeks on end, I issued 30 tweets a day or more on an array of topics aimed to engage a diverse range of folks, many of whom were (Surely!) just waiting to “convert” into readers of my books.

There were rules to follow: I never tweeted promos more often than 3:1, the magic formula. And I kept it up in spite of a growing sense of nausea as I struggled to devise clever ways of saying, “Check out this great read!” In fewer than 140 characters, of course.

I had consulted a PR guru. Social marketing was the tsunami of the future: the quickest, cheapest, and most surefire way to establish my reputation as a writer and promote my books throughout the virtual universe. Expectations were high  since I got onto Twitter not long after Bella Andre and others made their big splash. Everyone was hoping a reliable strategy had emerged—”Grow your online tribe!” Sales and readers were  sure to follow.

Once the euphoria began to wane, it was important to remember that success still depends on  genre, luck, and elusive factors like one’s affinity for self-promotion.

No doubt it’s obvious that this account of my socmed career entails a trek down the stony path of disappointment. Did all those tweets and posts sell books? In a 14-month period, between two titles, I sold just under 300 copies. Scarcely a handful of those sales can be credited to socmed activity of any kind. Instead, my family-wide email campaign generated numbers, as did face-to-face events like festivals and signings.

And yes, I tried an online giveaway.

Really, I don’t mean to whine. I am grateful for every purchase, every comment, every review. Still, fellow writers may want to realize that I fell far short of my dream: the great majority of my customers are folks who already knew me, or knew of me through secondhand acquaintance. Ongoing word-of-mouth did not take off, however, and my work remains earthbound.

Basically, a failure to launch.


“Indie authors” are supposed to be entrepreneurs, dividing our time between creativity and marketing. For me that balance has become precarious. Call me old-fashioned, but tweeting and posting are incompatible with writing as I once knew it. While thousands of us send out the same plea, day after day—”Buy me! Read me! Ditto all your friends!”—socmed has recruited precious few readers to my cause. So I hereby announce an extended vacation. The air waves will be a tiny bit less crowded with @anesam98 no longer adding to the clamor.

This blog has been great fun and will still enjoy a future. Please feel free to weigh in below with comments, disagreement, or personal experience. I love to host debate in these pages.

Disappointment means nothing when I recall the wonderful people I’ve met online. In the course of my socmed career, I enjoyed these encounters more than I ever expected. Connection has brought me delight and a sense of genuine, if intangible, success. Sincere thanks to all, especially—

The generous and brilliant writers who contributed posts to this blog and made my website a far more interesting place than it could have been otherwise. These include @jbchicoine @BradParker @thesuzettebrown @dumbbumcomics and @PMCoomer

Thoughtful and compassionate commenters who made my day, time and again, creating a priceless sense of engagement: @KVaselopulos @hectorhoraciova @Micsova @AyersEdits @PinchinLane @TerryTyler4 @PoeticFlow310 @Karenlsullivan9 @JacqueeT @medarlinv @TreeTop Orchid @mikeydbii @markvanderpool and, of course, the intrepid @FredWebster10

Tweeps who reached out to me across continents, from entirely different walks of life, with humor, fellow-feeling, and encouragement. The list would quickly cover this page, so forgive me if I mention just a few shining examples: @Corkytp @TamieDearen @ALittleMissie @tomkohlt @KlaraCharlton @MarkTheShaw @seams16 @Kindlemojo @JAEL488 and @Billward10Bill

Also, special thanks to Sage Adderley and all the wonderful bloggers who took part in my online tour. Each feature was a treasure and much appreciated.

Best wishes to all. I hope we’ll be tweeting together again in the literary choir some day soon.
Happy Choir

Is Self-Promotion at Odds with Depression?

Is Self-Promotion at Odds with Depression?

How did an old-school scribbler—a garret-sitting recluse and hater of newfangled technology—make the leap to electronic publishing, social networking, and that bête-noire of all things authentic, self-promotion?

The leap is not complete. Right now, I’m skidding between safe harbors, grappling my way up the slopes of a “vertical learning curve.” Whether I manage to touch down lightly in the high-tech literary world remains to be seen. You’re invited to watch the virtual Reality Show of my struggle, right here on the Blog at the website I never thought would bear my name!

What forces a formalist poet and literary novelist like yours truly to attempt such a jump in the first place? Short version: I found myself at a crossroads where I had to make a drastic change. I needed to take my artistic future in my own hands, or else do something destructive—reject my identity as a writer: erase files, burn journals, rent out my office to a deserving graduate student.

As writers (or artists of any stripe) our own psychology is no doubt our greatest asset. It can also become a terrific stumbling block. Before I began inching forward with self-publishing plans, I had hit an all-time low. I fell into a depression and suffered from agoraphobia, refusing to leave the house for days on end.

One of my favorite cartoonists, Peter Vey (www.pcvey.com), brilliantly captures aspects of those feelings in an item I ran across in The Funny Times (www.funnytimes.com)—

 

Writing can be a lonely business. For almost two wasted years, I DID feel that writing had ruined my life: While others engaged with the world, teaching children to read, growing food, or building cars, I sat in my garret pondering a fuzzy navel. I had dedicated my “talents”—paltry as they seemed—to a cruel muse who offered fewer satisfactions with each passing year. Self-expression was my be all and end all, but if no one beyond the self takes the slightest interest, what’s the point in expressing anything?

What do you think: Is writing an isolating occupation, or does the exercise of imagination let you connect with all humanity? Are artists more prone to depression than people in other walks of life? Please feel free to comment on other relevant matters, as well.

Join me next time for further adventures in indie publishing!