—Personal— please do not reblog.I know I’m still in a ver...
I know I’m still in a very strange spot right now because I had a major death in the family and have yet to fully process everything.
But I’m having so much anxiety about promoting my new book because I know that once I start it will just be a constant drumming migraine of nothing but book promotion related posts day in day out and the hollow, soul-deadening realization that I’m shouting into the wind.
Every time I post here, and on the other five goddamn accounts I have on Twitter, FB, IG, TikTok, Goodreads etc etc, platforms this facet of my career has forced me onto, that I have to use to reach literally anyfuckingone at all, one more person finds out that I finished TGC. Which is good.
But every word I write to promote it is just an incessant tap tapping in my brain, and the terror associated with putting myself out there. Something that absolutely grates against the essence of introverted me. Which is bad.
Another post, me reblogging myself until I start to wonder why I bother, another overwhelming sense that I feel like I’m going to throw up if I have to hear myself talk again. It’s partly imposter syndrome, but imposter syndrome isn’t cute or fun. I feel like I’m dying on the inside. And I feel like everything I say comes across as disingenuous because everyone can see me gritting my teeth and white knuckling through every attempt I make to self promote.
This is the part I utterly hate about being a writer.
I just want to reach the people who read the books and want to get the next one. I’d start a mailing list, just straight direct access to the people who want to read my stuff but can’t find it, but I end up feeling bad even asking people for that much.
I know authors who almost exclusively do mailing lists since all the algorithms are rigged against them and have success doing it. But I’m not them, I don’t enjoy any facet of self promotion and most of the time just thinking about it makes me curl into a ball.
I know that 90% of what I’m saying in this moment is coming from a place of depression and loss, that I’ll probably feel better when grief, stress, neurodivergent burnout, perimenopausal PMS, chronic illness, and lack of sleep haven’t pushed me to the absolute limits of what I’m able to tolerate. I know I’ll be able to get back on be horse and get this done. But I’m feeling terrible and lost.
I’m going to go eat a tortilla with peanut butter on it or ikea meatballs or something so I can at least take care of one human need but yep here’s me vulnerable and showing my whole ass.
Gnight.
