Frustrating

Marketing my book is really, really frustrating. There. I said it.

Photo by Pixabay

Now how to complain about it without being unfair to (and potentially pissing off) the powers that be? That’s tricky. Another thing to be frustrated about.

I’ll just stick with complaining about myself. It’s safer that way, and makes for a shorter blog post.

Without further ado, let’s cut straight to the whining.

I read and read and read all I can about how to create ads, when to run them, how to get reviews, how to promote myself, how to put myself forward, how to be everywhere online and in person at once without seeming self-absorbed (but yes, totally promoting myself) and I swear I only retain 5% of what I read. My mind is like a flippin’ spaghetti strainer with too-big holes. It doesn’t help that I have ADD, am trying to write a sequel and raising two young kids who LOVE to distract me. Actual things they’ve said, mostly this week:

“Mom! Mom! Mom! What’s for dinner?” Seriously? You just had lunch.

“Mom! Mom! Mom! Two years ago, when I was five, someone in kindergarten hurted my feelings. I don’t remember which kid who said the mean thing or what the mean thing was, but my feelings were so hurt! And now I can’t stop being sad! Hey, are you laughing at me? Laughing at your own daughter? Your only daughter? You don’t love me, do you? I’ve never been your favorite!” Stamp. Stamp. Loud wailing. Slamming door.

“Mom! Mom! Mom! Is Ringo hitting the high hat or a triangle on Maxwell’s Silver Hammer, and is that a good song for me to listen to?” My autistic son is obsessed with The Beatles and I can’t finish a thought without being asked about them. (Ringo was actually hitting an anvil, and whether or not my third-grader should be listening to a whimsical, catchy song about a serial killer is a different conversation entirely).

“Mom! Mom! Mom! My brother just kicked me in the stomach!” No, he didn’t. He was asleep on the couch. I saw you walk your stomach into his foot just to get him in trouble.

“Mom! Mom! Mom! Can I call you ‘Mole’? You have a lot of moles, and ‘Mole’ is easier to say than ‘Mom’.” No, for the hundredth time. My name is ‘Mom’, you little ingrate.

It’s difficult to organize my scattered thoughts and follow involved step-by-step book promo plans. So I post pictures of flowers. And Disney World. And my incredibly adorable children (while second-guessing every image of them I post, as though stalkers are lurking behind every cell phone, waiting to pounce). Everyone likes those posts. Not nearly as much attention gets paid to my book, Gingerly, even though I treat it like a newborn baby and bring it to theme parks, the beach, historic landmarks, the zoo and take a million pictures of it. Check out the bottom left picture. Even the giraffe could care less about Gingerly. “Oh, you wrote a book? I’ve taken poops bigger than that.”

I must be doing something wrong. It’s a pretty good book, if I do say so myself. Other people say so, too. One thing I’m NOT frustrated about is the very kind people who have honored me by reading the book and taking the time to leave reviews with phrases like:

“…endearing characters and memorable setting…”

“…most impressed by the book’s sharp pacing and effortless writing…”

“…full of twists and turns without losing the coherency…”

“…great characters. I couldn’t put the book down!”

“…honest, raw and real…effervescent read…”

And so on.

Am I shamelessly trying to get people to buy my book through whining about my difficulty marketing it? Yes. That’s totally happening. Consider yourself manipulated.

And please buy my book.

It’s even on sale.