When I released ‘Til Undeath Do Us Part, I had interview opportunities. I did one for Indie Book Promo right at release. The other potential interviewers were kind people who didn’t seem to have questions for me to answer. I was supposed to build my own Q&A for them to host–something as frustrating as writing my own back cover copy or sales page blurb.
That is a mistake I regret, up there with missing my chance at a podcast interview in December of 2015. I was ashamed that I had missed my first publishing deadline on Man and Brother, and I was still terrified of being asked questions and finding myself dumbstruck and mute.
I failed as a writer in 2015–not because of my Cryptid Series sales numbers but because I turned my back on interviews.
We’ve reached the final installment of my five-part practice interview. I have to say, it has been revealing to me, as well. I learned to express my ideas a bit better, and I have talking points I can take with me on future author interviews. I have more personal clarity about the Cryptid Series, which I can turn to while I write subsequent books in the series.
And I can explain better and more about why I write and what I write.
I enjoy writing, adventuring, observing. Interviews . . . I don’t know what to say for myself. On the whole, I don’t consider myself a particularly interesting person.
Oh, I care about people. I enjoy talking to people. I even enjoy talking about writing with people. I believe, now, I could do a book signing if only to meet and greet people.
Interviews to promote myself, my books . . . they are difficult. What I’ve done and seen eases smoothly into the realm of fiction for me. Traveling the nebulous space between fact and fiction is akin to picking my way over a stony and narrow path along a cliff face, only to find glyphs I cannot comprehend etched in rock at the top.
I have a real author interview lined up, one which I must work on over the weekend. Oh, real interviews are hard: What if I say the exact wrong thing to make people hate me? I think that might be worse than people ignoring me. Well, worse to my psyche. I have no idea what generating negative publicity will do for the books that I’ve published.
Interviews are not easy for me; I don’t seem to know what to say. Oh, I enjoy very much talking to others despite a social awkwardness which reveals itself quickly. I think, because of social media, I could manage a book signing.
As an author, I observe life. I read others’ observations on life. Fiction or non-fiction doesn’t matter–not any more to me.
That word sends shivers up my spine just thinking about it. Set ‘Author’ in front of that word, and I suddenly go blank. What’s my name? I have no idea. Look on my book cover; I think it’s there somewhere.
However, I need to put my big writer-girl pants on and finally dip my big toe into the inkwell and just practice in the web journal mirror.