My most recent novel Beach Thing launched two weeks ago. In that time, I have sold nearly 100 copies, which is pretty darn good for this little indie author. It took me two months to sell that many copies of my debut, Brunch at Ruby’s. I’m nowhere near tempted to quit my job and try writing full time, but I’m also well past my days of being a fledgeling writer. I have so much to learn and and so far to grow to come anywhere near the faves I, but I’m well on my way.
Now I’m in that post launch period, also known as a) What am I writing next? and b) WHEN DOES THE PROMO END???
That last one, especially.. because whoa. Last weekend I woke up to an email that I was an Amazon Top 100 Author. For the uninitiated, it means your book has sold enough that it ranks in the top 100 books for the categories you’ve selected for it. I hit top 100 in Kindle books > African American romance and Kindle books > women’s fiction.
I was wildly excited, since this is a new frontier for me… it wasn’t even a goal, wasn’t something I knew I wanted. But now that I am there… Ayyyyyyy!
And I am still there. And I keep thinking, well, when I drop from the Top 100 I can slow down the promo. So I keep it going.
But the odd thing about promo is that it makes people buy your book. So I am still there. And still doing promo. Not that I mind. I’m giddy about it, to be completely forthright. I’m experimenting with facebook and instagram ads and always always promo-ing on twitter, because, thanks to lots of retweets from the best of #authorfrans twitter sells books.
So I keep doing the promo dance, just to stay in the Top 100 and at some point, I’m sure, it’ll stop being worth it. I haven’t reached that point yet.
I want to start turning my mind to what’s coming next.
And I really don’t know what’s next. I could write something new. I could dredge up something partially finished and poorly planned, dig into plotting and try to figure out where I am going wrong. I could do nothing. I have so many options with no idea of which one to take.
After writing a book, I need a break. I need to decompress from the writing schedule, from my mind being consumed with how to write well and how to make what I have written better. I need to clear my head of the old plot, the old one-liners, the old goals.
I don’t have a plan on when I’ll start writing again. I suspect that something will start screaming at me soon and that’s what I’ll become obsessed with. Until then, I can catch up on my reading. And breathe.