Sneaky Self-Promotion for Idiot Authors (1/13/2011)

Dying to get their books into bookstores, or sell bookstore stock, authors actually do these things:

1. Artificial Insemination: After printing colorful card-stock promotional bookmarks featuring the title and purchase information for one’s own book, an author sticks these bookmarks into store copies of bestsellers.

2. Disturbing the Universe: A writer in a bookstore surreptitiously moves her books closer to the front, or turns them from spine-out to face-out, or re-distributes the bookstore’s stock of her book among several subjects or shelves. She doesn’t realize that the bookstore is a business, that she is not the first writer to do this, and that the bookstore clerks know the shelves as they know their own faces; after all, they have arranged the books, often to specifications given and paid for by the publishers. It is their job eight hours a day to maintain this order.

3. The Secret Book Signing: A writer enters a bookstore, finds his own books and secretly autographs all the copies, knowing that autographed books are considered defaced and cannot be returned to the publisher, and hoping this will force the bookstore to keep all copies on the shelves until they are sold.

4. The James Frey Awards: A writer has golden medallion-type stickers printed with the name of a fictitious award, enters the bookstore and sticks them onto his book covers hoping this will attract attention.

Not yet dead of embarrassment and shame? Pretend you are not the author, and sell a copy of your book to every used-book dealer in town. At least it’ll be shelved in a bookstore. (A tip found online.)

More About Miss Mousy U.S.A.

I held the above title for 15 years. My frazzled, untrimmed hair, saggy Land's End calf-length full black skirt (with elasticized waist), downcast eyes and lack of affect (some people thought I didn't have any feelings) I hoped signaled that I was a rebel artist, giving the world back as good as it gave. It gave very little. Not entirely because of my mousiness, but I realize now, looking back, that my appearance said:

• My employer doesn't pay me enough, and although I don't have the nerve to change my situation, let me serve as a reminder that the poor are always with you.
• I'm depressed and it's partly your fault.
• To hell with bodies. Minds are what count.
• I can see your inner beauty, so why aren't you astute enough to see mine?
  
• I'm punishing the capitalist patriarchy for its unattainable feminine ideals.
• I'm lonely -- but uninterested in commoners like you.
  
• I'm at one with the wretched of the earth.
  
• I've been abused; want to hear about it?
• What, fuss about looks and manners while our planet is dying?
  
• I'm above everything you think is important.
• Please notice my awful suffering and help me.
  

Then, bit by bit, I began to re-connect with other writers and play the cards the world dealt me. The things that restored my self-respect were 1) fellow writers, 2) self-publishing, and 3) money. That's why I'm always urging fellow writers to join groups, self-publish, and ask for money when they work.

Take Me Serious

Sunk in the bottom of an ocean of books at a big-box bookstore, I realized how insane it is to hope to make a mark, much less a splash, writing books in this world. But the would-be authors I saw there contrasted so sharply with the crisp and handsome new books that I got keenly critical, and as the former Miss Mousy USA I know it helps, if and when one wants to be taken seriously as a bright and disciplined person with a future, to show your material self some dignity:

• Get a haircut.
  
• Don't wear dirty green T-shirts.
• Clean your shoes.
• Conceal your bra straps and g-strings.
• Crocs are for home wear only.
  
• Don't carry big, lumpy bags.
  
• Women: Wear a bra that holds 'em.
• Don't gnaw at, or carry around, plastic or foam containers of food and drink.
• Don't flap your hands. Don't gnaw at those, either.
  
• Pick one of your good features -- nice hair, nice butt, expressive eyes, strong chin, pretty ears -- and deliberately enhance it.
  
• Sit straight.
  
• Over 40? Ditch the baseball cap.
  
• Harmonize your socks and shoes.
  
• Save your all-in-black look for funerals.
  
• Don't let everyone see you surfing Asian-bride sites.
  

None of the above are prohibitively difficult or expensive. Look as much as possible like a brand-new book!

(More on my life as Miss Mousy in the next post.)

Are Writers Temperamental?

Anonymous writer had two readings set up. Decided not to do them, but rather than say "I don't want to do them," picked an asinine quarrel guaranteed to short-circuit both appearances and future ones.

Anonymous writer breaks out in red spots upon hearing that she should inquire about guest teaching gigs rather than waiting (11 years & counting) for universities to seek her out. She's bitter that they don't.

Anonymous writer feels she is slighted because she is fat and black. Another sure that the problem is that he is a white male. Another feels ignored because he is over 50. Others feel pegged -- as a Jew, an Asian, a lesbian, an academic, a newbie.

Anonymous writer is crushed by a rejection, never tries to publish again.

Lots of suffering generated by their choices of truths and realities!

This is You

You're Just a Little Piece of Software

Just as you are about to complete any big writing project -- at the 95 percent point or so -- a little piece of software may well kick in. It invades the mind of the confident writer, who begins to think:

• I'm tired.
• Why bother.
• Get somebody else to freaking do this freaking work.
• I've changed my mind.
• Whatever I get won't be enough.
  
• This project isn't worth it.
  
• It's high time I started letting other people down and disappointing them.
• Need a week off.
• For this I gave up my social life?
• Surrender.
  

I know it's just a little piece of punk-ass software and I can slap it down.

On Self-Respect

My book Island Universe: Essays and Entertainments, is done. Yesterday I got the letter from painter Siegbert Hahn of Germany giving permission to use the chosen cover illustration. That was the last piece in the puzzle of putting that book together. I will E-mail the ms. to the publisher Tuesday, when I can get a broadband connection.

Next, a project I almost forgot about -- to arrange my writing group's next book. And when that's done, maybe I'll hear about the manuscript I sent out in mid-June. And then -- how about harvesting some newer poems and putting together a poetry chapbook?

I didn't realize it, but over the years I had just kept writing and writing, sometimes articles and reviews only for the pennies they might bring me, always grumbling and berating myself: "This isn't the best I can do," "Wish I had more time," "It's the deadline, I have to finish now," and "One day I'll do some real writing." Darned if it wasn't all real writing. I'm only seeing that now, and only now respecting myself for doing it. You, of course, will be smarter, and take pride in all the writing that you finish.