I am terrible at this marketing, sales thing. The idea of telling others about something I like is unwieldy at best. More accurate is I don’t like doing it. No, wait — it’s the idea of telling somebody about the thing that is my own rather than something else I love that bugs me. Why does it feel like the title of this post when trying to push my work?
After decades of being a writer in some form or capacity, the idea of selling my work never sat well with me. Were I to become a traditionally published writer as opposed to an indie writer, the situation would be no different: I would still need to sell my work. Period. That is, I need to sell my work if I had any inclination to become a financially solvent writer and not one who does it for fun alone (which isn’t the worst thing — but there’s more to it).
I know I’ve written about this before, although I am too lazy to look up which posts are which. Suffice to say, I am aware of my struggle. Since the beginning days of my writing, I have struggled with the very concept of sales. I mean… it just feels wrong.
Recently, I came to a strange understanding in the relationship between my obsessions and my writing: I am willing to talk about my obsessions to no end, but conversely, I am afraid to talk about my writing… which I am arguably more than obsessed with.
Writing is truly very personal. Even though I write mostly fiction, my writing is still very much so. Any art is personal. One can pontificate at nausea on the ways art is both personal exploration and exploration of life in general. There is a drive within the artist to do this, no matter what. Granted, things can (and do) get in the way, however the rule remains. Regardless if there is a creative block, the drive to create is there.
Art, for this purpose, can equal self. Thus, hocking my writing feels like I am selling myself. And what’s fucked up is that it is. Selling my own books is in part exactly like selling myself. Each story I write is a part of me, however disconnected from reality it might be. However, tangential. Yet, it is also selling a product. That product so happens to be something I created.
Weird how so many of us are willing to sell the ideas of things we love that have nothing to do with us — being something we enjoyed, or liked, or found useful. We’ll talk endlessly about a show we love. Yet, we cringe when going to sell something of ourselves — of our own creation. Why does it feel so wrong?
Recently, I released yet another story. It is a middle-grade novel called Soar. It is a story I am proud of, a story I like, a story I enjoy. Even so, I feel wrong to push it. I feel strongly enough to put it out there for sale, but somehow drawing people’s attention to it seems so wrong.
Multiple hypothesis exist for this one. One such is the whole idea of impostor syndrome. Impostor syndrome is the idea one has where whatever accolades they receive are undeserved. Where I think this comes from for an artist, in particular, is the dual ideas of knowing that a piece can always be better (like perfectionism in a way) and in the artist’s constant striving to improve one’s skills and craft.
Each piece I write can be better. Each piece I write isn’t my best work, or at least it might not be as I produce more. Equally true is the phrase “perfection is the enemy of good”. I’ve learned in the last few years in how I must learn to take my art to the best point I can take it, without exceptional efforts, and to let it be. Just because a work can be better, doesn’t mean it needs to be. Perfection, like art, is very subjective. How many “perfect” shows, movies, books, paintings, drawings, etc. have flaws or areas where it could be “better”? If these shows were to be “better” in these ways, would they remain as good? Improving something for one person could ruin it for another.
This is good to consider when thinking about one’s own work.
Let’s say I can accept my work as it is. Then what? What do I need to do to move towards a more profitable writing career?
Artists create. Be it a writer, a painter, a sculptor, or whatever, we are all artists and we create what are really products. These products are ours. They don’t belong to Target, Amazon, or whatever other conglomerate (unless we’ve either sold our souls or contracted our work out). These works are the artists’ work and yes, can be sold as easily as any product in those aforementioned businesses. Who’s better to sell them than the artist who created them?
No one.
Except of course some smarmy salesperson. Some person who is just gross and worrisome and who somehow can get people to open up their wallets even when they don’t believe in the product. But that isn’t what we are trying to do.
We, the artists, want people to buy and enjoy the work we create. We crave connection to the pieces we create. In order for this to happen, people do need to be pointed in the direction of the work. How is that done? For writing, in particular, there are two choices in finding these people: sell or give away.
There’s a lot of argument out there about this. With so much content effectively “free” from most people’s perspectives, it is even harder to argue why someone should pay for an artist’s work. Adding to it, many of us do, in fact, offer a lot of our work for free at times. Either when we are just starting out or with the justification of wanting feedback or “eyeballs” over pay. Largely, this is really us believing we don’t deserve the pay. Or we are afraid to ask for it. Better someone see it for free than to be told no, right?
Unfortunately, what I learned is that even those who are financially viable never quite get over the feeling of being undeserving of it. Exceptions are there, I am fairly certain. Exceptions do not negate a rule. Artists seem to get it even more, given the connection between their livelihood and their work. More so than, say, my efforts for the corporation I am employed with, the goals and targets of art are vague at best. Why do people like this over that? Why did my story I liked less sell better than the one I am most proud of? There’s that whole “subjective” thing again.
Giving away art for free is an easy way to avoid this dilemma, or rather, a good way to pretend such. Add in the pull of all those on the internet who thrive on “free” entertainment as the top competition. The real question is whether free is the right price.
It is not.
And in truth, nothing we count as “free” on the internet really is. It is content for a platform which earns money based on advertising or some other means we often dismiss. Since we didn’t pay in the obvious form of a monetary exchange, we count it as free. Free isn’t the right word then, but for lack of a better one, it’s all we have.
With a writer or artist posting their work on a site like Facebook or Instagram, they are then effectively gifting their work to be used as content for said platform. It gains money for the site, but it seldom does much of anything for the artist other than a like or a comment. It’s easy to like or comment, too, compared say to opening up and entering my credit card information in to access something. But one way gives the artist real value for their work and the other, value to a platform.
I’ve toyed with the idea of writing stories meant to exist on these platforms — stories like my micro-fiction pieces at 500 words or fewer. Occasionally I posted poems, too. Sure, it seems a nice way to gain followers or eyes, but does it? “Occasionally” doesn’t feed the algorithm. Am I trying to feed the algorithm or me?
Maybe social media worked at one point in time. That time feels further in the past with every passing day. Anomalous stories of some person or another seeming to pop into existence because of a post exist, but for large measure, social media is becoming a useless tool. Once a person likes or comments on the post, they think their job is done. Maybe they might follow. Maybe. Even then, I can think of all the artists I follow but never support beyond a like. (Yes, us artists are as guilty as the next person.)
I also must leave open the possibility of my just not using it properly. Because I admittedly suck at this marketing and sales thing.
Art should not be free, though. Artists should be paid for their work. It might not be from the people who are enjoying it, like with a commissioned mural. Still, they should be compensated in a fair manner for what they did. Or possibly through licensing or something similar.
Even a recent trip I made to the local high school’s art show had large numbers of pieces for sale by the artists. There are pieces for sale at my favorite coffee shop. Work went into these pieces. Skill, learning, effort, thought, emotions. These aren’t, nor should they be, free. Unless the artist truly chooses for them to be.
My books aren’t free outside of the occasional sale or discount. Some of my stories are free. I had my reasons, so I guess there isn’t really anything wrong with giving away art if it is serving a larger purpose. Choice of value priority has to go into it. It should be done sparingly and with thought. It should also maybe serve the goal of drawing people towards the products I have for sale. This does not include the many instances where companies try to option work from an artist in exchange for “exposure”. That is in itself a cheap, disgraceful practice by those businesses and is an insult to the artist. But I digress.
Maybe that’s what marketing and sales is: a way of drawing people in towards whatever it is being sold. It’s an invitation rather than a demand. However, the nervousness of it remains, especially given my being an introvert. The question remains, why does it feel so damned difficult and gross?
It might always feel so; I have to learn to get through it. Marketing and sales are an integral part of any artist’s ability to get people to the point where a sale is a possibility. A necessary evil, if you will. Evil is a bad descriptor, really. It is only that it is a difficult skill. It is not impossible. Nor is it wrong. This icky sticky feeling I get when trying to do it. Maybe it is simply the fear brought on by lack of skill, fear, and that pesky impostor syndrome. No matter what it is, it is time I learned to market and sell.
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