I’ve taken my foot off the marketing gas this last couple of weeks. Balancing writing and promoting is difficult at the best of times, but I let disharmony creep into my domestic life, and that’s been eating away at my free time. Now that I’ve been able to straighten out my schedule, I’m back in the game, but with an air of tension that I’ve somehow damaged my reputation as a self-publisher by not pushing the book as hard as I could have. It’s not been a complete washout – one of my retailers called to ask for more books – but I have this feeling that I could have, and should have, done more. I was beating myself up over this failure, when I came to a realisation.

This project is running to my schedule.

This mantra of promote, promote, promote didn’t originate in my world – it came from publishers of music, books and films who have moved from a position of developing artists over time, to looking for a fast return. If your debut album bombs, you’re done. If a film underperforms on its opening weekend, it’s a flop. The big publishing houses are still putting marketing money behind significant releases, but that window is narrow, with other book slots chasing it, and that title has to hit big in its allotted time. No one cares about letting a product find its market through word of mouth any more, as it takes too long.

Word of mouth is everything to me for two reasons. First, I don’t have access to national/international physical distribution, and second, I want my book to find the readers who will love it, and I know they’ll love it because it’s been recommended by friends who know their tastes.

Word of mouth takes time to build. A long time. And I have that time, as I don’t have to provide an immediate return on this title. Yes, I’m mad that these last two weeks have been unproductive, and yes, I’m working my ass off to catch up, but I’m not stressing about it anymore. There is no deadline.

Not that I’m being complacent, and allowing apathy to creep in. I’m just seeing this project for what it is: my life.