Self-Promotion

I can’t do it.  As wonderful as I am, I can’t stand before people and tell them how wonderful I am.  It’s just not in my nature.  If they don’t see the inner glow, what am I supposed to do about it?  Shine a flashlight on my face?

I bring this up now because I’ve been asked, via Babe Judy, to appear at a holiday event to promote my books.  Well, gentle folks, my books are on Kindle. So what am I supposed to do at this event?  Smile and admit to being a writer with no books to sell, no books to autograph—not that anyone could read my signature?  Can’t do it.  The product is in outer space or seeping through the internet somehow.  Do I know?

Would I like people to read my books?  Of course.

Everyone’s favorite:  “A Mother’s Secret.”  Available on Kindle.  It’s a twenty-hankie book, and even I cried while I wrote it.  It’s two family sagas rolled into one.  My title for this book, before it was changed by the publisher, was “The Face of Love.”  And it was truly a story of love

But I have other favorites.  One book you can probably never find is “Getting Even.”  I wrote this book when my husband dragged me out of Atlanta and forced me back into the Midwest.  Four women are accused of killing one man, who did them dirty.  Is it any surprise there was also a Russian edition?

“The Wanker” is also available on Kindle.  I wrote this at a very low point in my life, and it was a tonic.  Instead of crying my way through this one, I laughed all the way through.  The characters delighted me, and I loved writing the bad poetry for that very special poetry group.  Besides, who doesn’t like dealing with a psychopath?

People now are catching on to “Caught in the Shadows.”  It’s a screed shaped like a murder mystery.  In other words, my resentment of moving midwest-ward came into full bloom.  Also living among the rich and entitled.  We were neither.

I suppose I should mention “Flowers of the Desert.”  Another crap title by the publishers.  This book was based on stories I heard from various relatives about tough times in a new country.  The book should have been closer to my heart, but I had an editor from hell, who is now packaging dreck books from New Jersey.  I think.

So what would I do at this event?  Especially since I’m not a glad-hander.  I enjoy talking to people.  But unlike Babe Judy, I can’t walk up to complete strangers and bond immediately.  It’s a skill, and so far it hasn’t brought her into the danger zone.  So far.

Alas and alack.  I am who I am.  The books are as they are.  To be read, to be enjoyed.  And I appreciate your enjoyment.  But now I shall withdraw into my shell, peeking out to watch the world go by.