Permission

jon-tyson-195064I’m forcing myself out of my comfort zone and trying a few “go-to” marketing methods other indies swear by. It feels strange to be paying for advertising. My brain wants to label the act a failure. It wants to label me one too. And I didn’t realize how much of that “failure” was self-prohecised until I watched Ksenia Anske’s live Facebook video about how to get out of your own way so that you can start making sales and building a loyal readership.

The moment she said that the rejection was all in my head, manifesting simply because that’s what I was afraid of and therefore expected…because for some sad sick reason that’s what I thought I deserved, it all clicked.

Pen & Xander is the best novel I’ve ever written. There is no reason it shouldn’t find an audience. In fact, it already has one…they’re all just eagerly waiting for me to find them and share this story with them. That’s what I have to believe if this book is going to have any semblance of life. I have to believe that this story is exactly what many people are looking for. That I’ve written something worth shouting about.

So I started doing something scary. Something I usually NEVER do.

I actually gave myself permission to send the novel to a few friends. There were no strings attached but I have to stop assuming that the people who care about me the most are the ones I must shield my art from at all costs. Usually, when I publish something new, I tell no one but the internet. Very few family members have read my work and that’s only because they found it on their own. But it wasn’t until today that I realized my secrecy doesn’t come from a place of not wanting to be an icky sales person. It comes from my fear that my stories aren’t good enough.

And this fear fuels every decision I make about my books. I always claimed that I didn’t need to spend money on marketing; that it was a waste. The truth is I didn’t think my books were worth the investment. I preferred to give away copies to new readers than to ask them to spend their own money not because I was trying to be generous but because I didn’t think my books were worth the money.

It makes absolutely no sense, especially after all the time and creative energy I’ve spent over the past six years. In that time I’ve written eight novels. How do I still not believe in myself? How am I still struggling with the same doubts I had as a teenager? Maybe I’ll always struggle with my fear of failure. But maybe there’s a way to harness that fear and use it as fuel. Maybe it starts with acknowledging that it’s there and then doing the scary thing anyway. It’s how Pen survives. By pretending. So I will pretend. Every time I hit send, every time I share my story with someone new, every time I sit down to write. Until  my convictions are stronger than my fears and I’m no longer running from the success I deserve.

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