On The Not-So-Bright Side

 

I was feeling low yesterday, so I did something counterintuitive -- I decided to look on the bright side. Which is all well and good, but in the light of a new day, I think it's valuable to note why I was feeling low.

I ran a free book promotion for Shadow Song on Friday -- zero takers.

I ran a free book promotion for Bad Blood on Saturday -- zero takers. 

I ran a BargainBooksy ad for my new release, The Diner Girl, on Saturday as well -- 3 takers. So I spent $10.00 for each book purchased at $1.99. I lost $24.03.

I have promoted my books on my Facebook author page. I have a Pinterest business account where I feature my books.

I've tried Twitter. I started using Instagram.

I've tightened up my book descriptions; strived to make them compelling.

I've scoured Google for tips on selling. None of the articles tell me anything I'm not already doing or that I simply can't afford to do.

I used a Fiverr designer to create my first two book covers, but I hated them so much I eventually just designed my own. So if it's my book covers that are suppressing sales, I don't know where to turn. I certainly can't afford to pay hundreds of dollars for one design, especially when I have nine books I'm trying to promote.

Before I decided to go the independent route, I queried my three novels. What a soul-crushing experience that was!

Yes, six of my nine published works are novellas, and maybe no one wants novellas. Although I know that isn't true, because other authors manage to sell theirs.

So, what it comes down to is me. No one wants my books and it's not because I'm a bad writer. How in the world would anyone even know? Barely anyone has read my work.

I thought about this as I was trying to fall asleep and again when I awoke this morning. Even in the face of practically non-existent sales, I was really proud of my latest and considered it my best effort to date. I'm an optimist at heart. Everyone says, build up your library; no one is interested in a one-off. I built up my library. All nine works embrace the same overarching theme. I (perhaps stupidly) assumed that women readers liked books that spoke to them, but I'm probably woefully out of touch. The best-selling genres are romance, science fiction, erotica, and horror. I don't write that. Can't write that. Don't want to.

I penned a post a while back about quitters. I'm not a quitter, but I'm also not one to beat my head against the wall. I've done this for eight years now with nothing to show for it. Promoting isn't my thing -- I find it rather embarrassing, which is one reason I write under a pen name. And I can't justify using my family's meager funds to push what increasingly looks like a vanity pursuit.

I think it is time to give up. I don't want to. I have no clue what will replace writing. But would my next book with its shitty cover suddenly grab readers? Of course not. Do I go on writing just for me? I'm essentially doing that now, but I always had hope that it wouldn't always be just for me.

Yes, this post reads like a bucket of self-pity. That's not my intent. I'm simply trying to sort things out. Re-reading it might provide me with an answer.

As things stand now, I think I know what that answer is.