This morning, I politely removed myself from six new groups that had been created on Facebook while I was sleeping. All six of them were "buy my book" groups, created by people I don't know personally, telling me about the exciting opportunity I have to purchase their brand new book. Four of them were for ebook-only editions (which is relevant because anyone who knows my reading habits knows that I prefer to read physical books). Three were for books in genres that I do not reliably read. One was for a book whose subject matter was something I find actively offensive, and have discussed as offensive in the past.

This morning, I deleted eight emails from people I don't know personally, telling me about the exciting opportunity I have to purchase their brand new book. Five were ebook-only, four were genres I don't follow, two were in genres I explicitly don't read ever (hint: I am not the target market for your "raping serial killer rape-ily rapes his way through Rapetown adventure).

This morning, I received five targeted tweets from people I don't know personally, telling me about the exciting opportunity I have to purchase their brand new book. I don't know the breakdowns there; I don't click unsolicited links.

Look: I understand the excitement of a new book, or even of a not-so-new book. It's your baby, it's your imaginary friend dressed in the very finest clothes you can buy, and it's all alone in an increasingly large and tangled marketplace. We want to give our stories every advantage that we can, and it's pretty clear that "more readers" is a huge advantage. Sometimes I wish I had my mother's blatant salesmanship. She hands out bookmarks advertising my books everywhere she goes. Grocery stores. Funerals. Wherever. But she's not me. When she does it, it's a mother supporting her daughter, and it's harmless enthusiasm. From me, those same actions take on an air of desperation. I have to find a better way. We all do.

The accessibility of readers (and authors) on the internet has changed the shape of the game, and is still changing it, as we try to sort out who stands where. But, well...

Have you ever parked at a supermarket or a movie theater or another place where parking happens, and come back to your care to find like thirty flyers shoved up under the window wipers, waiting for you? They're all advertising services that may have relevance to your life, like pet sitting and yard work and, I don't know, exorcisms. But the odds are good that you don't know, because the odds are good that you, like the rest of us, threw those flyers away. Maybe one of them gave you a paper cut. Maybe that was enough to make you notice what it was advertising. If it did, do you think that became a service you wanted to buy? Or did the negative impression rule the day?

Yeah.

The internet is not a neighborhood in need of door-to-door salesmen. In order to promote books, we need to be engaging and engaged. We need to talk about our lives and our pets and the current season of So You Think You Can Dance (your TV mileage may vary). And then, yes, we can talk about our books. But—and this is the big one—that needs to happen on our space.

If I turn my Twitter feed into the all-my-new-book, all-the-time channel, you can unfollow me. If I @ you constantly, unless you want to block me, you're screwed. If (and when) I turn this blog into the all-my-new-book, all-the-time channel, you can unfriend me. A few people do, every time promo season arrives. Most of them come back when it's over, having safely weathered the storm...but I don't follow them into their own blogs and insist that they listen.

If you want to be seen by more eyes, buy ad space on popular webcomics with a theme similar to yours. See if one of the major book blogs has space for a guest post, or whether you'd qualify for John Scalzi's Big Idea. Or just keep blogging, saying interesting things, and increasing the size of your platform. There are ways. It just takes time.

There is a difference between promotion in our own spaces and promotion in the spaces of others. One is appropriate and necessary. The other is a very fine line, and stepping over it can result in lost readers and hurt sensibilities, and that's never a good thing.

Words: 2,208.
Total words: 63,005.
Reason for stopping: chapter fifteen is done, so I'm going to work on something else.
The cats: Alice, spare room floor; Thomas, kitchen sink; Lilly, parts unknown.
Music: random shuffle.

I could keep going, to be entirely honest: I know what the shape of the next chapter is, and I could push my way into it. But I wouldn't finish another chapter tonight, and I'd rather send this out to the Machete Squad now, while there's time for them to do something about it, than force my way onward and maybe not get them a draft until the weekend. So you see, I can be taught.

(Besides, the other thing I'm working on right now is potentially my "here, have a new book" reward, and that means I'm on a bit of a self-imposed deadline to get it wrapped up.)

I am really crazy-happy with how things are shaping up. I have the normal contradictions and conundrums of a first-draft book that's only a little over halfway done, but they're resolving themselves quickly, and it's a good story. I'm going to rock it.