This is the first of what I hope to be a number of blogs about the experience of promoting The Unremarkable Squire. I’m not a natural promoter, by any means, but I figure I can at least write about it as I go along.
Last week, I found a big, heavy box on my deck. It contained physical copies of my new novel The Unremarkable Squire. It was fun to open the with my kids. They kept flipping through the books like they knew how to read.
So, anyway, good news, I now have copies of my book to sell.
The bad news is I now have copies of my book to sell.
Let me explain. I love good stories. Characters live on the pages. Worlds come alive. Good books revitalize the soul. And I think The Unremarkable Squire fits the bill.
But a pile of books is a lifeless, depressing mass.
I’m of two minds about big bookstores. Sometimes I love to peek in at the pages of this book and that book. Sometimes the light of a thousand creative minds hums from the shelves.
But sometimes, it’s just a mob of screaming voices, of writers who want to be loved and care nothing of the truth, Sometimes it’s just a cacophony of words, words, words. In this mood, I understand it when Solomon says, “Of making many books there is no end, and much study wearies the body” (Eccl. 12:12b).
And so a box of books sits in my basement, waiting for me to do something with it. A pretty collection of dead trees isn’t much use.
I suppose I should find a way for people to discover the life inside.
Want a chance to win my book for free? Check out my contest, going on now.