That’s what all writers like to think about themselves and each other, at least. I’ve spent the past two weeks researching every aspect of self-publishing and self-promotion and I’ve come to realize it’s all a big nasty mess.
I’ve read blog entry after blog entry on How to Sell 1000 Copies of Your Book in a Month and How I Went From Being a Dipshit 9 to Fiverr to a Full-Time Writer with Doritos Crumbs Piling Up on My Chest Almost as Fast as Money Piles Up in My Bank Account.
All the advice is the same, all the popular tools for self-promotion are the same, all the tips & tricks & insider secrets are the same. And guess what? All the results are the same (give or take a small and brief and meaningless injection of sales for some, here and there). I’m not seeing any huge success stories stemming from these promo teams and review sites. What I’m seeing is unknown authors being sold a false sense of success and celebrity. Yeah, you moved 40 copies of your book today, and Amazon’s ridiculous algorithm has launched you into the Top 50 of your category. So what? You made eighty bucks and no one knows who you are. Next week, your sales are likely to return to what they were yesterday.
As I browse the dozens of FREE TODAY! ebooks being Tweeted each every 47 seconds, I notice something else. The books are all the same, too. Regurgitated Twilight. Regurgitated Harry Potter. Regurgitated Tom Clancy, James Patterson, Stephen King. Bland. Boring. Reiterative. Crap.
Anyway, most writers who happen upon this blog post will leave it not liking me very much. I don’t care. Aside from a few good folks I’ve met and formed a correspondence with on Authonomy, “a place where writers come to get their hopes up,” I can’t stand writers–especially ones who spend more time honing their marketing skills than their storytelling, whose pitches are better than their books, whose book cover is top-notch but first page is riddled with grammatical errors and cliches. Writers effin’ suck, man. They bore me to tears. (Not you John Eric Lucia Ross Simon Jason Becca Splinker Groaner Mary Ellie. And especially not YOU, the writer I didn’t mention who happens to read this. Haha.)
I’m not writing for writers. I’m writing this for readers. It’s my plea to you: get behind me, Satan. Subscribe to this blog or bookmark it or just remember it and come back to read The Object. It’s freaking spectacular. And if you have a few bucks to spare and want to read a book that’s guaranteed, if nothing else, to not regurgitate past bullshit to make new, more sour bullshit, then buy A Circle in the Woods. It’s the best book you’ll run across today, whether you like it or not. And hell, if you don’t want to spend any money or you can’t afford it, email me at winstonemersonATgmailDOTcom and I’ll send you a copy free. Just promise you’ll come back here and tell me what you thought of it. I don’t mind if you think it’s horrible. I just want you to read it and form an opinion.
And I don’t want you wasting your time on the shit Amazon and the rest of the publishing industry are peddling.
That’s all my ranting for now. But there’s gonna be a lot more. Stay tuned.