Well! Smashwords have approved my application to go on their premium list. I'm away. Or am I? I really have serious doubts about the value of writing a book, which involves an unbelievable anount of effort, that will more than likely languish along with goodness knows how many thousands of others in some remote corner of the net. Even when I have done all I can to spread the word I have to wonder if the rewards will justify the sheer effort. I can't even say that my vanity is satisfied. It is not.
Faith, self-belief, talent and so on and so on matter. Of course they do. They are all in the melting pot called motivation, which is another important quality. But! The best writers can be the worst self-publicists, and vice versa.
I write from compulsion. I believe there is a lot I should write before the grim reaper visits ... but I can't write while I'm doing the rounds of marketing an earlier work. Frankly, I resent the time doing what I like least - publicising myself and my work - when my next work, "An Angel called Harry", which will be the most important book I ever write, is being frustrated by all the fancy bits a traditional publisher would do on my behalf.
Sure, the net enables me and a lot of others to expose our work to the risk of being bought by someone, but I would far sooner see it on the shelves of Waterstone's and Smith's. I might then even be able to see someone buy it. What a thrill!
Sorry people, I feel in a somewhat cynical mood at the moment. No doubt I shall recover. I might even manage to get "77" some acceptable publicity, which I very much hope will not just be down to the rather saucy sex scenes to be found in it.
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