Tuesday, July 24, 2012

So I'm an Indie. Does that title come with a fedora and a bull whip?

Independent publisher. Creative bohemian. Rebel without an agent.  I always associated the “indie” title to pink haired kids with piercings in odd places and tattoos, not 40 something year old women with… pink hair and tattoos….  Dammit!  How did I not notice this until now?


Being an indie means you have the freedom to publish and share anything you want, but with that freedom comes a whole lot of work. Writing is only one subset of skills I’m needing right now, and in the week since Alistair’s Bed hit Amazon, I’ve been educating myself on the wonders of self promotion.  It’s a jungle out there, and right now I’m still figuring out how to avoid the lions and tigers and bears, oh my.

I’m joining book groups, linking up with other indies, talking to strangers about my book and handing out business cards.  I have to decide if I will advertise my eBook for free on Amazon, balancing out potential contacts/reviews against lost revenue. There are blogger reviewers I need to contact, and family/friends I need to remind to review my book so that other’s are more tempted to buy it.  (But only after they’ve read it, I am not willing to have fake reviews posted, I’m not a fan of karmic backlash.)  Tags and likes and facebook pages and a host of other elements are crowding my mind.

I’m taking a bit of a break for a day or two to start the polishing process on novel #3, read a few new books, and I even entered a few short story writing contests just to do something completely different. The more I read, write and learn, the happier my muse seems to be, and that’s a good thing.

There’s a host of scientific data coming out that indicates we develop dementia because after 40 years or so of life, we start to “coast.”   I can say without a doubt, I’m no where near coasting just yet. I have far too much to learn.

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