I’ll be at the New Forest Book Fair this Saturday if anyone wants to say hello. I’m not sure what to expect but I’ll set my stall out and see what happens. The most I can hope for is to sell a few books and at least make the money back for the pitch.
It’s a second-hand book fair so most of the punters will be looking for old books, not new ones by an unknown author, but we’ll see. At least they can read which is a start.
But selling books isn’t the most important thing…
Well, it obviously is, but what I mean is that my main focus at the moment is to get people to hear about my books. That isn’t going to happen by sitting at home furiously tweeting one out. I have to put myself in front of the public. Out there, in the big unknown where scary monsters can eat you at every turn.
It’s about standing up behind my books, on my own, and saying, “this is me, do you want a piece of it?” Everyone has to put themselves out there and spread their own gospel.
Part of the dream of being a writer has never been to sit behind a dusty pasting table while old fellas, who stink of wee, shuffle past clutching a carrier bag which probably has the remains of their dead wife in. That isn’t what floats my boat. But you don’t get to the top of the ladder without climbing on every rung first. Having said that, I do hope that this rung is quite low down on my writing career ladder.
I’ll report back next week with the results and some interesting anecdotes from the mysterious affair in the forest. (this sounds like a Poirot story with dogging)
Until next time…