Spring has sprung enough that yesterday I actually bent down and picked up last year’s little plastic garden signs marking long-gone flowers. (It’s one of those chores on a to-do list that carries nicely from one season to the next.)
(I may be the laziest person I know.)
Today I'm forcing myself to do marketing. Which feels uncomfortably close to being the most obnoxious showy flower in an arrangement (a bearded iris, maybe) waving my arms in the air, screaming, pay attention to me, me, me!
It makes me twitchy.
(While not exactly a wall-flower, I'm much more comfortable being bouquet filler.)
In terms of my current assignment, I'm supposed to be sending out review copies of my novel, asking pros for you know, reviews. The goal is to pique interest:
"Close is about family therapy. On TV. What happens when you invite the country into your family therapy session?"
(Spoiler: It's not pretty.)
Anyway, this part of the process is a little like shoving books into bottles and pitching them towards Europe. Plus postage.
On the plus-side, the feedback I’ve gotten from real live readers (and not all are related to me!) has been amazing.