I'm back

There are reasons for the long hiatus, or excuses – around health, apathy and an old person’s disinclination to pick up anything related to technology. What comes naturally to me is paper-and-pen. I still use a Filofax rather than putting my life into the phone. Given what I hear about American schools teaching keyboard skills in place of ‘joined-up’ writing, writing on paper might soon be an archaic skill, like doing calligraphy with quill and an ink pot. In which case I shall apply for a grant to keep an old craft alive.  

But I’ve recently been billed, and have paid, to keep this website alive, and have given myself a stern talking to, so I’m back. This week I’ve had a reminder that there is a book out there for which I’m responsible, and sitting at a table writing missives to myself about my day is a good way to forget it exists altogether.

A man I used to work with took me to lunch at a waterside café, where we happened to meet two of his friends, a couple who were visiting Cornwall in their campervan. When I was introduced, the woman said, “Oh my God, I’m reading your book!” Which surprised me greatly, as almost no one is reading my book. Royalties dribble in in single figures. She went on, verbally giving me the kind of review writers dream of. “It hooked me from the beginning... riveting... I don’t want to put it down...”

This started me thinking about why I’ve walked away so absolutely from talking about Displaced Persons or promoting it. I’ve reacted to disappointment by giving up. Which doesn’t tell me anything about myself that I can be proud of. “I can’t do marketing,” I say, like I might say, “I can’t draw.” As if ‘marketing’ was a skill one is born with.

A while back, someone I follow on Substack published a cri de coeur – bemoaning how few paid subscribers he had when it took him so long to write an article, and he posted every day etc... He was equating the amount of time and effort put in at his end to the amount of value to readers. A rookie error. What he spends a morning writing can be consumed in seconds by readers as they scroll on through. But he well described my frustration with marketing: much effort for little return.

If nothing else, this website has enabled ‘book marketing experts’ to contact me. Their numbers are legion and they range from obvious scammers to clever scammers who impersonate book festival organisers, or genuine persons from genuine marketing agencies. They write flowery, flattering approaches with the help of a plagiarism robot. They promise to succeed where I have failed, and they make me sad, for I do need a real book marketing expert. Cost is a deterrent. The one expert I talked to said I’d gone into independent publishing the wrong way. I should have appointed a company specialising in that field – estimated cost, £7000. “No, you won’t get your money back,” she continued blithely, “but you write to have readers, not to make money.” Well done, all who have £7000 to put down in the service of attracting readers. Such are not my circumstances.

So what next? Small steps. One of which is this post. I’ve been thrown, but am getting back on the horse.