marketing 101

by | Apr 18, 2013 | Uncategorized

some people can sell anything.

some people can sell anything they believe in.

and then there are those who can sell anything they believe in, unless they were the one who created it.  I, unfortunately, belong in this latter category.

my undergrad is in marketing.  and although our world has changed dramatically since I earned that degree, many of the principles remain intact.  research, target markets, distribution, advertising…regardless of the product, success occurs when all of these pieces come together effectively.  to sell something–anything–one must have a marketing plan and be (or hire) a salesman.

all I want to do is be a writer.  I don’t want to be a salesman.  I want to create written works; I don’t want to create marketing plans.  but alas, I live in these interesting times, and I am still an “unknown” in the world of published books.  thus, if I want to get anywhere, I have to become a salesman.

at this point I have one co-authored self-published book out there, faith greater than pain.  it’s available on amazon.  we’ve sold a few hundred copies, which surpasses by far the typical sales number for a self-published book, which is somewhere around 50.  we’re kicking butt.  but we’d like to sell a few hundred more, then another thousand or so.  and then more.  according to the Deseret News, it’s a phenomenal read, and it deserves a wide audience.  but I still can’t figure out how to effectively market it.

and then my latest dilemma:  the next book, the constant possibility of grace.  this is a beautiful book, written to bring greater awareness to an amazing humanitarian organization that is working to increase social parity throughout our world.  I wrote this book to let others know about CHOICE Humanitarian, and at this point, with the manuscript sitting in the proverbial drawer, I’m not fulfilling my mission.  so . . . it’s time to dig out the marketing hat.  at least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself to do.  and I find it terribly difficult.

a good friend of mine, years ago, when a place was swarming with people would say, everyone and their pet alligator were trying to find space, get in, make a purchase, whatever the situation might be.  and that’s how I feel about the writing world:  everyone and their pet alligator wants to write a book.  everyone and their pet alligator wants to publish a book, capture an agent’s attention, find a publisher.  I am just one more.

one more human trying to create a web presence, garner some attention, make a name for myself, drum up interest, build a platform, find someone–somewhere–with a nationally heard voice to support what I do.  one more human trying to navigate the world of social media and networking.

so, right now I’m trying to put my creative energies into formulating a marketing plan for my grace book.   it’s not enough to simply publish it myself;  without a plan to support its introduction to the world I’ll be lucky to sell 50 copies.  I’m networking, reaching out to everyone I know who has any kind of a connection, working on tight cover copy and blurbs, designing schemes and promotions.  when I’d rather be–my soul cries out for me to be–simply writing.

but I and my pet alligator are joining the fray.  we’re here for the long haul, and we’re not giving up.  I’m remembering my purpose in creating this book and making that the focus so I don’t have to make it about me.  this way I can brag about the subject, not the incredible writing (smile).

pet alligator and I are going back to school, marketing 101.  keep an eye out for us, because we’re tenacious.  there will come a day when you’ll be hearing about this book from someone other than the two of us.

writing what you know . . . and what you don’t

by | Mar 19, 2013 | Uncategorized

it seems obvious that one should write what one knows.  a gardener will write a better gardening book than I; a fly fisherman is going to write a better book about flies and ties and rivers than one who doesn’t fish.  not only will a writer spend less time researching a subject they’re familiar with, they will also write with an insider’s perspective and hopefully an insider’s passion; they will write with more intimacy and thus create a better book.

this is not to say one cannot write about what one doesn’t know:  research combined with imagination and inspiration opens worlds of wonder for a writer caught in their spell.  I find myself lost in magical realms when given a little knowledge and a creative whirl.  as intensely direct and fulfilling as it is to write about your areas of expertise, to wander into new experiences offers gifts you can neither anticipate nor predict.

but there is a different way of writing about what you don’t know, one in which I’m currently snarled, one which I find extremely challenging if I let myself think about it.  it’s the task a writer faces when writing fiction;  the task of letting the story evolve on its own.  of knowing that you don’t yet know the outcome, but must write anyway.

perhaps there are authors who design a storyline before they write a word, who know what each character will face and say and when.  who know the movement and resolution, and only need to fill in with words and minor details.  I am not that author.  I begin wherever I’m inspired to begin, and let everything evolve from there.  I may have a general message or theme, or not.  I may have a few characters in mind, or only one.  I often visualize a setting, but it may become just one of many.  I cannot always know where my book is headed.

and thus I end up writing what I don’t know.

I would rather be able to outline the entire project and to know exactly where I’m headed . . . but apparently I don’t work that way.  what I’ve found is that I need to firmly grip a huge hunk of faith and to trust that it will come to me.  time and again I begin writing about one thing, say, a character sitting on a rock beside a river, and end up somewhere completely unexpected, say, at his parent’s home in grinnell, iowa, writing about his father’s search for a journal at the town stationery shop.  I can’t always know where my mind, heart, and pen are going to go.

I want to.  if I’m not going to write about what I know well—my passions—then I want to do oodles of research and outlines and predictions and planning.  I want to know where I’m going.  I fight this desire every time I put pen to paper, and force myself to sink deeper into that subconscious level that knows everything about every story I’ll ever write.  that–as julia cameron describes it–river of creativity that lies deep within us, that place which knows better than we do exactly what we desire to create.

once again it comes down to faith.  trust.  letting go and letting God, or letting go and letting your true, inner self take over.  which is the right thing to do whether you’re writing about what you know, what you’re not certain you know, and what you’re certain you don’t really know.

 

tenacity

by | Mar 5, 2013 | Uncategorized

I’ve done a lot of waiting in my life.  in fact, I’ve become good at it.  I am patient.  I can out-wait a rainstorm, a winter storm, a teenager’s tantrum, my children’s father’s poorly-compensated job.  an infected cut that resists healing, a lacrosse game played in a snowstorm, a home-remodeling crew whose priorities are radically different than mine.

I can wait.  I am patient.  but this doesn’t mean I like it.

when it comes to my writing life, patience seems to be its very foundation.  and its walls are built of tenacity.  I don’t believe there’s a ceiling, and the roof–which plays with the sky above and only provides a protective function when necessary–is made of joy, exaltation and delight loosely woven with thousands of whee‘s and woo-hoo‘s.

I have waited more than eleven years for a yes from an agent or publisher.  and that’s  counting backwards to the “completion” date of my first book-length manuscript, a memoir, which still resides in the proverbial drawer.  (and on a cd:  always back up your work.)  and here’s the thing:  I am not giving up.  this is where patience and tenacity sit quietly together, doing their little subconscious work, changing atoms and cells from eager, impatient things to calm, faith-filled, dogged centers of groundedness.

I envision the day–hour–moment when I receive that first real yes.  I’ve won a writing award; I’ve received oodles of positive feedback;  I’ve heard yes-but not for us.  the genuine yes is coming, I know this . . . but I’d sure like to know from what direction it’s coming so I could meet it halfway.

until then, I just keep working.  I write, I edit, I write some more.  I help friends with their projects, I jot down ideas when they flow and step away from my notebooks when my creative river dwindles.  most days I carry my notebook around with me just in case.  I begin drafts, I let them rest until they either find their way to germination or sink back down into fallowness.  I am nothing but tenacious.

some mornings I wake up thinking today is the day;  most mornings I don’t.  most mornings I wake up thinking today is another step in the process.  because even after that incredible yes will come days–weeks–months of continued patience.  revision.  adjustment.  editing.  more tenacity.

I didn’t choose an easy life.  or rather, an easy life did not choose me . . . I’m quite certain my heart and soul have given me little choice in the matter.  in being true to myself, there’s nothing else to do but continue being patient.  out-waiting bad weather, out-waiting a fear-filled marketplace, out-waiting indecision.  continuing to have belief in my path, remaining tenacious.  tenacity, from the latin tenere, to hold.  that’s me.  patient, holding.

patient, holding, never giving up the dream.  just watch me.