I am never at a loss for words and yet I hardly know where to start this post. Information first, I think.
My novel, Infamous, is being released on December 14, 2016, by The Wild Rose Press. So… ya know, yay!
That has literally been me since I signed the contract in April. And then it was me when I finished edits. And then it was me when I got a release date.
Like this whole process is so incredible-crazy-awesome, and yet so challenging. Editing is challenging. It’s one thing to kill your darlings. It’s quite another to have someone else say, “You know this scene, that you wrote with love and time and sweat and tears? It’s got to go.” Not that the editor was wrong, but someone else was murdering my darlings. Or, at least, asking me to obliterate them.
And then, that part’s all done, and you think, “Whew. Hard part is over.” But it’s not. Because then you realize, you know absolutely nothing about marketing. Why would you? You’ve spent 24-7 for years learning craft. Because, take it from me, kids, you’ve got to know craft before you worry about who will publish your awesomely fantastic story.
But, fine. Marketing. I can learn that.
Marketing is hard. Mostly because many people who are giving advice don’t really understand it themselves. It’s more a laundry list of don’ts.
- Don’t schedule your tweets throughout the day.
- Don’t not schedule your tweets/posts, or you risk flooding someone’s timeline and being obnoxious.
- Don’t try to sell your book.
- Don’t not craft the perfect tweet/post to sell your book. How? We don’t know.
- Don’t use too many hashtags.
- Don’t forget to use hashtags.
I could go on, but I won’t because we’re not getting anywhere.
- Don’t waste valuable blog space complaining about marketing.
Oops. Sorry about that.
But, really, it’s all good. I’m very excited to finally join the ranks of published authors. In the six months between signing that dotted line and today, I’ve finished book two. Of course, there will be edits, but… *sigh*. I’m learning so much, in between the edits and the dont’s, I’ve picked up a thing or two that I’m putting into practice.
I’m signing off, but I’d love to know about your first publishing experiences! Please share, because there’s always more for all of us to learn.
Justine put her fists on the bed and dipped her head until they were cheek to cheek. Turning to face him, she let her lips skim across the stubble on his cheek. A short sound escaped him at the touch. So like a growl, it inflamed her. She’d wanted to experience all of him, to touch and taste, a savage need to possess him took over. To take his mouth, to take him inside of her, until she drove all thought from him, the way he’d done to her. His scent flooded her senses, leaving her breathless, as she sought his kiss.
He pulled back to look at her, his eyes as unreadable as ever. He lifted his hand to her cheek and stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. “What is it?” she asked, her breath still coming in uneven bursts.
“I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.” His hand dropped and he eased himself from the mattress.
He crossed behind her, to the door, and she twisted on the bed to look at him. Her robe gaped open with the movement, and she yanked it together with a hand, exposed now.
But he wouldn’t meet her gaze, wouldn’t look at her at all, so it didn’t much matter. He looked at the TV, the window, the floor. Everywhere but at her. “About us.” Finally, he let his gaze rest on her.
Justine flinched slightly, and she hoped he hadn’t noticed. She forced herself to maintain eye contact. “You should go now.”
Sawyer spoke her name, his voice soft and full of pity. For her.
“Don’t. Don’t say it like that. Pathetic Justine, so unwise when she chooses a lover.” Justine climbed off the bed and walked the ten steps across the room to stand in front of him. “You know, I never thought I’d meet anyone more emotionally broken than me.”
“I’m trying to do the right thing here, which is a pretty novel experience for me, so…give me a break.”
Justine whirled away, grabbed his jacket off the chair where he’d dropped it earlier, and threw it at his head. “Get. Out.”
Sawyer caught the jacket before it slapped him upside the head, which disappointed her. He opened the door and then wrenched back around to look at her. “This is twice I haven’t taken advantage of you when you threw yourself at me. Next time, I’m using you for sex. You couldn’t possibly be more pissed by that.”
“There won’t be a next time!”
The door slammed behind him, and she jumped, staring at it for the longest time. She couldn’t get back in that bed, not now. She’d been so foolish, attributing feelings to him he didn’t have, to rationalize her own desires were getting the best of her.