This is turning out to be one of those ironies that will probably be funny someday, but right now it kind of stinks. I decided to self-publish my stories because I did not feel capable of writing the kind of marketing blurbs that literary agents demanded by way of queries. I didn't want to spend the time or the energy marketing myself and begging someone to read my writing. I wanted to spend my time actually writing.
So, what have I been doing since I made that decision? Writing blog posts pitching my stories. Trolling writing sites looking for tips, inspiration and kindred souls to learn from, and link to. Twittering and writing on people's Walls on Facebook. Blogging about writing here, in an effort to generate traffic. Blogging on my Amazon page about my stories. Creating a website to showcase the novels. Etc. Etc. Etc.
I have not written one new word of fiction in a couple of weeks. That is by design, because I want to work really hard at editing my inventory so I can get it all published and then start writing new stories again. I had planned to devote myself to editing and publishing over the next several months to a year. I hadn't factored in the unbelievable amount of time I would be spending on tasks other than the basic editing of the stories!
I can tell already that at least two good things will come out of this: first, if/when I decide I do want to go back to querying agents, I'll already have some fairly polished synopses to work with and, two, I will be so grateful to have help, I'll be very easy to work with! I feel certain, other good things will come out of it as well. Nothing that gives me this much discomfort and anxiety can fail to produce growth of some sort.
Meredith
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