Gratitude: It’s Worth More Than 13 Scrabble Points

thanks-1804597_1280This is the time of year when people talk about things they’re thankful for. Gratitude is a healthy thing, and it’s refreshing to hear people express it instead of whining.

Today, I’d like to comment on how thankful I am that I don’t have to earn my living by writing.

Yes, I enjoy writing, and I’m probably fairly competent at it. But earn a living at it? Ha! In order to make money, you have to actually market yourself. And your product. And I loathe, abhor, detest, despise, and abominate* marketing in any form. Besides that, I dislike it rather intensely.

Though I might phrase it a bit more passionately than most, the majority of my fellow-writers feel pretty much the same way. We’d rather write than do promotion. But if you want to sell books (or articles, or whatever you write), you have to let people know your work is available. And worth buying. And there’s no way to do that without putting a good bit of effort into it.

I sell a book now and then. I think since my first self-published book came out in 2014, there’s only been one month when I didn’t earn a few cents’ royalties. (And when I say “a few cents,” I mean that literally. There have been more months than I care to admit when my total month’s royalties for all four books have totaled under a dollar.) But I figure even if I sell only one ebook, that’s one new reader who might tell one or two others about the Gannah stories and/or buy another book in the series. In other words, though I can’t really call it progress, it’s better than paying people to take a book.
to-write-1700787_1280
So I’m thankful my husband has always been a good provider. His provision allows me the luxury of spending my time writing without having to stress over marketing.

Which is not to say I don’t do any marketing. Awhile back, I submitted The Story in the Stars to Rabid Reader Reviews, and they liked it. Though the review was published a few years ago, they recently tweeted about it, and I thought, “Hmmm, that was a good review, wasn’t it? Maybe I should remind people it’s out there.”

So, in case you care, hop on over to their site and check it out. And if you haven’t bought the book yet, treat yourself to a good read. If you have a Kindle, you can pick it up for a mere 99 cents, so you shouldn’t have to break into the kids’ piggy bank to afford it. And I’ll get a 34-cent royalty payment. We both win!

Thanks!

*apple-1603132_1280In case you’re curious, that heart-felt phrase is borrowed from a poem I loved as a kid. While you’re clicking on links, check it out too!

 

 

 

Share this:
Share this page via Email Share this page via Stumble Upon Share this page via Digg this Share this page via Facebook Share this page via Twitter
This entry was posted in Life and Writing and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Gratitude: It’s Worth More Than 13 Scrabble Points

  1. You’re right. Most of us despise marketing. If I was rich enough, I’d hire someone, but to get rich enough, I’d have to sell more books, and if I could do that, I wouldn’t need to hire someone. Gee. Isn’t this fun.

  2. Charity says:

    The poem link isn’t working. Would love to read it.

    • Y says:

      Hi, Charity, thanks for stopping by! Sorry the link didn’t work for you.
      Here’s the poem, entitled Dried Apple Pies, author unknown:
      I loathe, abhor, detest, despise,
      Abominate dried-apple pies.
      I like good bread, I like good meat,
      Or anything that’s fit to eat;
      But of all poor grub beneath the skies,
      The poorest is dried apple pies.
      Give me the toothache, or sore eyes,
      But don’t give me dried apple pies.
      The farmer takes his gnarliest fruit,
      ‘Tis wormy, bitter, and hard, to boot;
      He leaves the hulls to make us cough,
      And don’t take half the peeling off.
      Then on a dirty cord ’tis strung,
      And in a garret window hung,
      And there it serves as roost for flies,
      Until it’s made up into pies.
      Tread on my corns, or tell me lies,
      But don’t pass me dried-apple pies.

Leave a Reply