My Fighting Family: Reflections From an Author Two Months Ahead of a Book Re-Launch

Last week over on LinkedIn I had a chat with my followers about the reality of life as a published author, and it started like this:

Myth: Writers spend three quarters of our time thinking deep thoughts in trendy cafes, and the other quarter counting royalties from book sales.

Reality: We spend all our time in cafes… moping, procrastinating, catastrophizing, writing, crying, and trying to figure out how to pay the bills. I like to sit facing the entrance, so that when a robot shows up to steal my job, at least I’ll see it coming.

And when we’re not doing anything of that, we’re promoting something we’ve done or something we’re about to do. In my case, it’s both.

Paperback version of my memoir hits stores June 2 — exactly two months from today — and I want everybody to know about it. So if you follow me here or on my other socials, you have options in addition to copping the paperback, which I know you’ll do.

First you can prepare to be sick of me plugging this book, and that’s fair. As the tag on this blog entry says, there’s no shame in self promotion. It’s the best kind of promotion until somebody famous volunteers to drive the Morgan Campbell Bandwagon.

Otherwise, every day between now and the re-launch, I’ll be posting something, somewhere, about the book and where to get it (Like Call & Response in Chicago). I’ll also be pitching, cajoling and volunteering myself for interviews and podcast appearances in the leadup to and aftermath of paperback pub day because that’s what non-famous authors do.

Your other option is to join me in getting the word out. I’ve signed enough copies and collected enough award nominations to know that people who read the book really enjoy it. And I’ve seen the sales and reviews numbers at All The Relevant Sites, and those figures tell me more people need to read it. So to my website subscribers (IT’S FREE) and social media followers, please be contagious readers. If you enjoyed the book, please review and recommend, and help me win over both curious readers and the insatiable algorithms that hold the strings controlling my bookselling destiny.

A note about numbers…

Some of them are useful. Every Tuesday I check my sales stats, just to see which formats of my book are selling, and which events or interviews trigger people to purchase. Right now hardcover accounts for 80 percent of my sales, with the other 20 spread among ebooks and audiobooks. Important info, and I’d never know it if I didn’t check.

Likewise, a glance at my royalty statement reveals that 20 percent of my sales so far have come from the U.S. No clue how that figure compares with Important Canadian Authors, but I’m encouraged by it given that my book never even showed up in stores south of the border until I contacted some booksellers myself. For the paperback, the decision-makers say they’ll pay more attention to the US market, starting in Chicago, where half my memoir unfolds, and where the hardcover is already in the public library.

So thank you, sales stats, for helping me figure out where to focus my energy.

But besides that weekly check-in, I’m no longer following my numbers online. Not at those sites where readers gather to review books and search for new ones, and not at that all-encompassing retail site that also owns a streaming service and a major daily newspaper. That kind of surveillance used to be a routine for me, but now its a broken habit.

Why?

Because no matter how many reviews I rack up (not that many, last time I checked), somebody else will always have more. If I’m comparing my numbers to somebody else’s, then I’m also thinking about what I don’t have instead of appreciating what I’ve already achieved.

Also, the numbers are usually underwhelming, and my capacity for mood-killing news is maxed out. If I want to spend my morning in a funk I’ll read about gas prices and the climbing cost of groceries, or just take a peek at my credit card statement. No need to compound that grief by ruminating an Amazon Sales Ranking that’s probably deep into seven figures.

Instead of obsessing over stats, I’m back to journaling every morning. This post about Budd Schulberg’s classic novel, The Harder They Fall started out as a journal entry before I re-wrote it for an audience. A triumph of process over results.

And instead of aimlessly googling my memoir, I’m promoting it… or I will be between now and June 2. Two podcast appearances locked and loaded, and I’m always in the market for more, so either keep an eye on your inbox or parachute into mine.

Point is, it took me a couple of years to learn a simple but difficult lesson about life as a published author. You can spend energy fretting over numbers, or you can invest it in process and promotion.

This spring I made that transition.

I’m an investor.

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