On April 17th, I published the final novella–The Independence of Carolyn Woltkowski–in the Sketches from the Spanish Mustang series. For those that don’t know, the series isn’t really a series, but a novel in progress, sketches of life from a small town in central Colorado. On July 1st, I will release the actual novel, Sketches from the Spanish Mustang, and I will be on to the next project (which is rewriting A Difficult Mirror).
I didn’t really announce the release of the novella for a reason. It’s not that I’m dissatisfied with it (I honestly think it’s the most emotional of the six), rather I’m not satisfied with the reaction I’ve received toward the other novellas from the general public (i.e. sales). Sure, the reviews are fantastic (one reviewer even called the novellas “Pulitzer” material), and those that have read them have been marked in ways I intended. So what’s the big deal? Why didn’t I announce the release like a bat out of Hell, selling every five minutes via social media outlets, etc.?
It’s pretty simple, actually.
I don’t expect much return on investment.
I don’t like the covers (there have been three different iterations).
I’m ready to move on (it’s been nearly a year of thorough research and careful writing).
The last novella (The Five Fortunes of Fulano) went over like a lead balloon or a paper submarine, languishing in obscurity despite the amount of study that went into immigration. Why not this one, too?
There’s no pity-party here. I’m not asking for you to listen to me whine about the failures of marketing or the struggles of an Indie writer who isn’t very well known. Hell, I’m shocked there are people who do know me. There are so many anguished articles on the Internet, so many blogs about Indie struggles against the behemoths that are the Big Six publishing houses.
There’s too much advice out there, advice that may or may not help.
The subtitle of this blog is “Musings from a Reader, Writer and Therapy Candidate.” Much of what I write on here is related to that therapy. I have to write it all down to understand what’s happening, sort out the mysteries of the universe and all that jazz. You see, you can’t reach for the sky without knowing what direction the sky really is. Sure, it’s up, but when you’ve been spun around for years, you may not know your up from your down.
Do I ask you to try out the novellas? I could. I could sell, sell, sell like some used car salesman wearing a polka dot bow tie. I could dance a little jig and sprinkle Skittles from the sky.
But I won’t.
I’m suddenly tired.
I’ll write and publish until the day I die. I’ll let the world know that something is available by whatever means necessary. I’ll put my best foot forward always. I’ll aim for the sky and if I ever get there, great.
But I won’t worry about whether or not something goes over like a lead balloon again.
It doesn’t really matter, does it?
I’m an author and I have more books to write.