The colossal effort continues to surprise me. I'm not complaining, mind you, this IS a lifelong dream. Yet.

Writing a novel is hard.
Making it as good as you can make it, also not easy.
Transforming a .doc file to a pretty object to hold in the hand— exquisitely tough. 
Helping the book get to readers: off the charts difficult.

It's a mountain range of data to climb to understand even a little about how to market and promote a book these days.  Amazon reviews! NetGalley reviews! TikTok! Amazon ads! Blogs! Goodreads reviews! Vlogs! Contests! Pinterest! Reddit! Bookbub promotions! Newsletters! In-person events! Print publications! Instagram! Kobo promotions!

All to the good in my ongoing quest to blaze new neurological pathways, but also, just—Wow. It's a lot.

Wouldn't it be cool if I could describe a coherent, clever strategy I used? Alas, my marketing efforts have been a bit of mad scramble, learning on the fly at the last possible moment.

I started from what I knew: Press releases and e-mails went to my local news outlets and business contacts: an old-school strategy that was frankly useless.

Book reviews used to be the way the word was spread: you'd hear about a book in The New York Times, or your local newspaper, magazines, or on television. Alas, without the backing of a traditional publishing company, none of these traditional media outlets gives non-traditionally published books the time of day.  

​I mean, honestly, even my alumni magazine disses self-published works. ​

Luckily, as the landscape has changed (how many of us subscribes to a local newspaper?!), on-line reviews from peers have become increasingly valuable. Which is why I have and continue to ask (politely but incessantly!) for readers to leave a review, even if they didn't love the book. Reviews on Amazon, StoryGraph, iTunes, Goodreads, are at the core of my advertising. 

On the advice of some YouTube experts, I contacted on-line book bloggers and interviewers and made headway with a couple of mentions/interviews. Results (ie, sales and other actual metrics) were inconclusive, though each mention contributes to the book's online bona fides. Which is ultimately worth SOMEthing.

I visited many local bookstores with books in hand, which was gratifying when it works. And rather deflating when it didn't. I really want to support my independent bookstores, yet some were mystifyingly aloof and unfriendly.  Poor things: they don't know what they're missing.

To focus on the joy: I love my local Barnes&Noble, I adore The Little Bookstore of Clayton, I am smitten by The Gilded Page in Tarpon Springs, I treasure Book+Bottle in St. Petersburg.  Angels and saints walk among us, many sporting tats and selling books. I am grateful, and they get my business when I am buying.

A foray onto TikTok connected me to some really fascinating peers and helped me overcome what little self-consciousness I had been carrying. I do in fact look and sound like that these days. Woosh! 

More importantly for the book marketing efforts, TikTok has made me a more cautious consumer of online opinion.  There are hundreds of earnest book lovers talking about books they love and hate; there are hundreds more who look as if they have passionate opinions but who are side-hustling as advertising shills. It's a performative world out there.

Other things I've learned from YouTube and the generosity of other writers: a person can leverage content.  This sounds jargonish, but in plain language, this means recycling.

For instance, a blog I wrote ten or 13 years ago (omg!) can be polished and posted on Substack. Bookish content I filmed for TikTok last year can be reposted on Pinterest and YouTube.  

Over and over and over. ​

When I worked in adult learning, one of the designers had a poster that consisted of 99 thumbnail photos of a person saying "Sit," to the dog standing at her feet, along with a final tiny picture of the dog sitting, and the person saying, "Good dog."

Granted, that message was a bit toxic and reductive, but also, it was not wrong.  

​So I'll be over here continuing to natter on and on about She Taught Me Everything and the second (ooh! I know what the name's gonna be!) novel.  

Perhaps, I can imagine certain old friends pointing out, I'll natter on and on because I do, yeah yeah, but also because like that 100th tiny photo, Good dog! 

Kobo is Toronto-based alternative to Amazon's Kindle. The company has its own e-reader devices, its own catalog of books, and phone and desktop apps—it boasts 30 million users and a global reach.  You can use Overdrive and Libby to access library books on your Kobo device. 

I'm not trying to sell it, but it has an appeal. 

And, after So. Many. Tries. there's a Kobo book deal on She Taught Me Everything. Whooot whoot!

Kobo users will get 30% off the cover price for the next couple of weeks. It's advertised by newsletter and on the site's "deals page."

If you're curious for details, I give up something like 45% of my royalties during this time in exchange for Kobo promoting the title to readers who might like it.  
 
My marketing efforts, admittedly, lack an overarching logical framework. There's a lot of seat-of-the-pants, learn-as-I-go, last-minute efforts to figure how this or that works. All to the new neurological pathways good, right?

Kobo has not been a huge seller of the book (Amazon has the numbers), but it continues to find new readers there and I do have reviews on the site (a key element to sell any book is proof that the book exists!).

I did put together a couple of videos for the various social media (O TikTok! O Insty! Hello Facebook!), but If my strategy were a bit more organized, I'd stack promotions on this Kobo deal.  Alas, I have been wrestling with novel 2 and my ducks are not in a row. They are flapping and quacking like mad, honestly.

But I do salute and celebrate this victory. Thanks Kobo!

Kobo user? I want to know about it — drop me a line in the comments.

I'm both wracked with doubt about the current project and also passionately loving it, which seems to be the writerly condition in a nutshell.

​That cognitive dissonance of huge self-confidence (it's brilliant! I really got it this time!) pairs well with a deep, DEEP anxiety about how the project will appear to other people (ain't nobody, no how, no where, EVER gonna like this steaming hot mess I have created).

But, as with so many worries in this world, one must look away from the void and carry on. So while the project is getting edited (squeee! it's with the editor!), it's time to move on to book design.

This is a fairy-tale inspired short novel. Think The Last Unicorn, Greenwillow, The Princess Bride, Thomas the Rhymer by Ellen Kushner. All of which one can judge by the cover...

On She Taught Me Everything, I calibrated the book interior design from the cover. I commissioned an artist to make the cover and then coordinated the font and spacing to that and the general literary genre.  As someone described the job of book design, "You want your book to stand out, but not too much."

Overall, I want this new creation to feel pretty—bougie even—intriguing, consciously a touch old-fashioned. I do NOT want readers to expect a spicy-romantasy (be still my beating loins!), even though it's about true love. 

Look how a font sets the stage, even with place-holder Latin instead of content for the chapter:

That first, swirly font tells me to expect either a breezy self-help book or, possibly, a romance set in some retail world. So no.

And the second, hmmm, maybe a gritty speculative fiction? Something urban? Also no.

The chapters in novel #2 have text titles, not just numbers (see also "consciously old-fashioned"), which affords a chance to make the chapter openings a little extra.  

I am not a designer, but I do have opinions. Here's a chaotic look at how I'm shopping fonts:

The choice really sets the stage, I think.

Plus, get this, turns out it's the work of a few keystrokes to insert a bit of graphic art into a wordy document. Which translates into interesting chapter openings!—at least for the paperback book version. The ebooks, well, it's more of a hit-and-miss situation for artwork.

We'll cross that bridge when we get there.

First steps:

Nothing is set in stone, but I am liking this experiment so far.  

Like a Balrog, the thought reaches me from the void: But What About That Title?

Sigh.  Yes.
​It's still between titles. I'll be going to the beach to think about it soon.

Where was I going with this?

​Oh, yeah. Promo Monday.  

For a few years now, I've aimed at limiting promotion activities to a predetermined chunk of time. Like a kid getting a set number of minutes with their video game. (A game that is both addictive and designed to keep your attention engaged—to the exclusion of sleep and food. Just ask author Johann Hari.)

Monday mornings might find me watching a YouTube video  from another independent publisher on what is working, or checking my website for optimization. But what's been most difficult — and most vital! — is figuring out what I am promoting.

Let me step back to take a long swing at this: back when I first went away to college, I shared a dorm suite. Two girls in each room on either side of a shared bath. One of our suite-mates was a self-absorbed full-blare yacketty yakker. Through the popcorn textured walls, her voice would drone on and on: "I moimel moimel ME, moimel moimel, I, moimel moimel MY."

It was a solid early lesson on the distinction between what feels important to one person and what SOUNDS like a dental drill to another.

Even if Lifted Board Press had a blockbuster budget to promote She Taught Me Everything, you know how it goes: you see an exciting movie trailer four times, then one of your buddies goes, "Oh hells no, that crap cost me 1 hour and 47 minutes I'll never get back."

Personal opinions just weigh more.

​With a tiny media budget, I rely on friends. On Facebook, for instance, what's going on with the writing gets a lot of air-time, but I don't want to be that girl, broadcasting day and night in stereo.

Likewise Instagram, a platform that my artist sister suggested. Less politics, more pretty pictures, she promised. Turns out I have a weakness for funny reels—which absolutely does NOT help my focus. 

I try to post, but not be spammy.

It's a reasonable-enough marketing motto, right? Be Not Spammy.°
​
Honestly, it's a low bar. Not that anyone is born knowing how to do this stuff, and it sometimes does seem like yelling louder is a strategy. Ask any toddler. 

But no, a quick précis (by way of a couple of seminars and a dive into the beautifully open world of YouTube creators) zeroes in on the dang point of social promotion: giving value for anybody's attention. In other words, listen up and it's gonna be good. 

Easy on the Spam. I might adopt a personal code of arms of non-maleficence, thanks in part to sweet Ms. Larson, my Latin teacher:  Non esse servavit porcos.

I ventured to the clock to play on TikTok for a bit. Overall, I enjoyed engaging with other writers (Golden Angel! Oh my!), even though it felt like exposure therapy to see and hear myself on the tiny screen.

So instead of serving up seasoned pork, how about some opinion, theory, facts?  The value I offered: opinions about books.  

After a couple of months, it was clear, however, that whatever new readers TikTok sent my way, and regardless of the community spirit, the time-drain and brain-drain was not worthwhile.  

In July, a Monday whim and a detour sent me to Pinterest, a site I associate with designing a cabin or finding out how to fold fancy paper stars. It allows you to save ideas onto various "boards," which appeals to the organized creature I long to be.

Turns out Pinterest is a kind of a social media anomaly: instead of yelling into the void and having a day or two to make an impression, this social content sticks around. Pinterest provides something like an endless reading room, full of beautiful images and content that endures. And the best part for my selfish needs? Readers hang out here too! 

With advice from various Pinterest gurus (discovered via Pinterest. I have them pinned on my "Self-Publishing Lessons" board. Naturally.), I set up an account for myself as Author Amy Smith Linton and began to curate. It did not cost a dime, though I spent time making pretty pictures.

Two months into the experiment (it's all experimental!), I give Pinterest a few hours a week, and get kind of a lot of traffic in return.

By my standards a lot: two thousand views the first month, six thousand last month. Do these numbers translate into sales? Modestly, possibly, yes. I can't tell for sure, since I cannot quiz the individual book-buyers, but there's an uptick. And that's gratifying.

Daunting, but gratifying. 

And on we plow, making our furrow as we go...

°Why not "Don't Be Spammy"? Because, though I haven't found the source for this data, the rule I remember is: when attempting to effect social change, it's far more effective to suggest what to do rather than what NOT to do. For example "Bin Your Trash" works better than, "Don't Be A Gross Litterbug."  
 
References
https://www.addictioncenter.com/behavioral-addictions/social-media-addiction/#:~:text=Social%20media%20addiction%20is%20a,impairs%20other%20important%20life%20areas.

https://www.goldenangelromance.com/

https://www.pinterest.com/liftedboardpressllc/

​https://www.tiktok.com/@creativelyflailing?lang=en
​

​Oh how I ache to work in a reference to the soccer fans' chant about Roy Kent! 

Consumer ratings are here, are there, are every-something-where for some really good reasons.

It's hard to trust the internet.
I know, reeeeeealy?

Most of us wonder is it advertising, is it paid placement, or is it plain old fakery?  One way around the uncertainty is to get word-of-mouth recommendations, yet in this marvelous part of the 21st C, that takes time. 

So we turn to the social part of media: we check who recommends any given item—and we look at customer feedback before plunking down our cash or time.

How often has the phrase "worked great for about a week" convinced us to select some other Amazon gadget?
 
Speaking of the 'Zon, shall we walk through how to do customer feedback on the world's largest retailer for a book?

Start by finding the book listing on Amazon. Scroll down the page to "write a customer review."
​
​Pick a number of stars. Skip over the headline part for now.

The feedback can feel hard. Stuck for words? Think about the Who, What, How, Why, of the story:
 
Who did you like or dislike in the characters?  (For Moby-Dick, "I liked Ahab, he was poetic and strange.")

What kind of story was it–sad, humorous, romantic, spicy––and did you enjoy that? ("The story was one long whale chase on the high seas. There was a lot of belly-aching, which I could do without, tbh.")

How did the book unfold, how was it told, how did it make you feel? ("Moby-Dick has beautiful descriptions of a lost way of life, which I really appreciated. The obsessive captain was so emotional I was kind of tired just reading it.")

and Why or not you recommend. ("This book is a classic, and it's hard to read, but in the end I felt like I really accomplished something.")

If you didn't finish the book, say why. ("My own white whale showed up.")

The only do-not? Don't mention or imply a connection to the author. Amazon doesn't want someone's mom stuffing the ballot box...

Finally, send a flare up for readers who might like the product. ("This is good for fans of seafaring adventures or anyone working on their vocab.")

Then go back to pick a headline ("Vocab on the high seas")

Press the "submit" button and voilá! you have provided insight for readers, writers, and publishers. You rule.

Pro tip: you don't need to buy the book from Amazon to share your opinion about it. Yep. You can go in and share your opinion regardless. 

Same with other retailers like KOBO and Barnes & Noble... those links can be seen here, btw.
www.amysmithlinton.com/get-a-book.html

Even if you didn't enjoy it at all, don't be shy. It's helpful for other readers to know that someone else has given the book a try and has had an honest reaction.  

Cheers!

I am psyched to see reviews coming in, but honestly, I almost don't look at them myself.

First, I have a generous dollop of self-confidence already––without any real external encouragement. (And I'm reluctant to burst that bubble on purpose.)

I wasn't a theater kid. I DID play the vamp in my high school play –– let's go ahead and blame the hair for that one –– but I'm not usually one to muscle my way to center stage. 

As for my novel, it would be pretty to think a book will simply find its readers by the quality of existing –– like the movie starlet perched on a stool at a soda fountain. 

...But the trick is that she must be SEEN perching. The Hollywood fantasy persists in our screen-heavy world long after soda fountains have faded into history. Hence my flurry of Instagram and TikTok activity.

Since I don't have the budget of a big publishing firm, here I am, adding my voice to the democratic chorus of social media.

One excellent piece of advice I heard was "don't be spammy." So instead of incessantly jabbering on about me-me-my-my book, I'm on one of those other topics I can piffle cheerfully: other books I think people will love.  

Shocking as it is to hear my own voice and get the visual (again, blame the hair), I'm embracing the experience.

And from time to time channeling my inner Sophia Coppola...

It's all an experiment, really.

My brains are not quite oozing out of my ears, but it could happen. At any moment.

Did you know that when you search for something online, those descriptive words (fast-acting, best, organic) have a price tag?

It should not come as a surprise.  Ours is a world of fully-fledged capitalism. Naturally the very words we use are monetized.  It might look like a library, but it's not.  

Marketing on Amazon, the world's largest bookseller, goes a bit like this: say I've written a romantic romp involving a pair of collegiate hockey players.  I've done my homework and am a canny marketeer. I know there are readers for my book and I am pretty sure Amazon can locate them.
​
Ads on Amazon are not like the "Plop-Plop, Fizz-Fizz" 30-second video clip we know from broadcast television, it's actually a quite brilliant and fully automated system.  

As a canny publisher, I've invested in Publisher Rocket, a software that helps me figure out what categories and keywords are likely to lead buyers to my product. I mean book.  

For this hockey romance, we're going to skip right to the part where we start an advertising campaign around keywords.  One starts, naturally, with the phrase "hockey romance."   Amazon might suggest that "hockey romance" is worth $1.87 per click.  Which means that IF someone types in "hockey romance" AND clicks through to the longer description of the book, I'm out $1.87 WHETHER OR NOT they put the book into their cart. 

Given that I stand to clear $3.45 per copy of the book, I might want to lower that amount, say, $.87 per click for "hockey romance."  Of course, a lower bid means I might be outbid by other books with the same keyword, and my hockey romance book will slide lower on the page. ​
​

You places yer bets, you hedges yer bets, and then you waits to see what Fate (or the Almighty Algorithm) will reveal.

​Carefully selecting 40 or 50 keywords for the campaign, go ahead and set a price on each word (in broad, close, and exact match categories. This is not a quick process for the faint of heart.).

Ideally, you pick a price that will outbid other vendors by a penny or two, to keep you near the top of the page without breaking the bank.  You set a daily budget ($10/day is the recommended starting point), so after the clicks add up to $10, you're done. Sort of. Until the next day.  

So much of the process is shrouded in secrecy, but it's freakin' brilliant: Amazon is a store where not only can you get everything, it's a store that charges for browsing. It doesn't charge the buyer, true, but someone has to pay.

It's also a bit like a modern-day coal-mining company store: Who is tracking clicks? Who's writing paychecks? Who is setting the prices? Who is doing the accounting? All points awarded to the man in the brilliantly shrouded secrecy. 

But convenient.   And someone in France bought a copy of my book last month. How cool!

I got chatting with a lady in line at the grocery store (yes, that's me, randomly striking up a convo), and I whipped out a postcard  of She Taught Me Everything (again, me with the marketing material to hand).  She swished her phone and Poof! my novel downloaded to her Kindle. 

What a world.

Nowadays, when looking for books online, I tend to mooch around in the stacks of Goodreads (owned by Amazon but not as monetized yet) or Libby/Overdrive.  

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm about to dip a toe into the marketty world of TikTok...