Sunday morning and I’m sitting under the veranda listening to rain tap dancing on the roof. Flicking lazily through the latest edition of a writing magazine, I come across an article on successful marketing and I can’t help thinking about my own rapidly sinking sales figures. I must find ways to raise the profile of my books.
The article suggests spending a frightening amount of time on social media sites, submitting book reviews, (to who I wonder?), arranging promotions, compiling databases, writing regular newsletters to send to anyone willing to read them. The list of ‘good ideas’ goes on.
When, I think do I get time to write the next novel?
The article continues with success stories written by authors who it seems have been advertising guru’s in previous lives or have had careers in publishing or some other such organisation.
The day is becoming as miserable as my mood and I regret stumbling across this article. Turning the page I see colourful adverts that are full of promises but in reality are designed to maximise the profits of the service providers.
Sinking deeper into despondency I decide to cheer myself up with a chocolate biscuit and a cup of coffee but I notice that birds are gathering in the trees at the bottom of my garden. They come together a spontaneous community, creatures searching for shelter as they wait silently for the weather to improve, then suddenly a dove begins to coo, it's the sound of hope, a sign sent to encourage me to direct my thoughts more positively.
My list of ‘good ideas’ is almost complete and flicking through the remaining pages the rain stops and the birds go mad with relief. All I have to do it seems is to follow the directions from my list of marketing strategies and like the smiling faces on the pages of my magazine I too can become a bestselling author.
So I’m let to believe!