I text her, because I’ve texted you three times in the last hour, and I feel I ought to spread the crazy, just a little, you know? So I text her, and she asks the right question, and I say:
Me: Oscillating between pumped-ecstatic and fucking terrified.
And I’m going to tell you the rest, as it unfolded…
Her: Terrified of?
Her: Ah. Always possible, but highly unlikely. It is a truly brilliantly written book. It is a voice like I’ve never read. I think the unintentional (;-P) psychological exploration of fidelity is nuanced and sublte. If it flops, it will just make me think less of humanity than I already do…
And I love her, oh, I love her, would you not? My bruised-frightened-battered-ego preens, for a moment. But, reality:
Me: It has a lot of crappy competition to cut thru…
Her: Yup. That will be the hard part. You’ll have stealth on your side as it can pass for just erotica for those who don’t get the more intelligent stuff but I think once it gets picked up by a smarty or two it will get lots of word of mouth.
Word of mouth. Right. Word of mouth. Words on a screen…
Promotion. Marketing. Ugh. My stomach turns. I. So. Don’t. Want. To. And she knows. They all know. They’re supposed to do it for me, because that’s what friends and beta readers do, right?
Her: I’m actually feeling a bit funny about the desire to promote you to my friends but also to maintain your anonymity. Not sure how to work that…
Me: “I know this writer”…
Her: Yeah but I already gushed about it when I read it!
Me: Well, they won’t remember who you were gushing about.
Her: I’m worried I’m not subtle enough. I’m a shitty liar. I’m thinking … accidentally leaving copies of it plces.
Me: Lol. Expensive.
Her: Like Dr. Offices. How embarrassing would that be, to start reading right before an internal exam? Oh, uh, it’s not you Dr….
This is an actual true story. You can tell, because the cadence of reality is clunky. Also, I have the screen shots to prove it.
I also have the most amazing support network.
And she’s right.