There’s a seriously funny book on my bookshelf called How Not to Write a Novel by Sandra Newman and Howard Mittlemark. Irrespective of whether you want to write a book or not, if you love reading, you’ll find this book a real joy. The book opens by citing the case of John Kennedy Toole who, unable to find a publisher for his novel, A Confederacy of Dunces, took his own life. Apparently his mother took up the cause and eventually got it published to great acclaim!
Of course, no such histrionics are necessary these days. Any fool can foist his mindless drivel on the rest of poor, unsuspecting humanity thanks to the mini-revolution that is print-on-demand and the disruptive technological advances that have resulted in the e-publishing phenomenon. Thankfully, humanity is largely protected from the tide of fatuous, illiterate shite that’s pumped out by the fact that, without the help of an agent, most of these pitiful scribblings will remain forever undiscovered. Yes, there will be exceptions like 50 Shades of Grey!
And so it seems that planet earth will remain safe from my novel. Efforts to promote the book are not progressing well. After nearly two months, this website has managed to attract no more than 24 subscribers, although this obviously increases the odds for those of you eager to win one of the 10 signed copies. Google Analytics reveals a peak visiting day of 18, shortly after I posted on Facebook. The fact that the ‘new post notification’ system in WordPress wasn’t working won’t have helped engage those subscribers I have.
In short, my own personal PR machine is lamentable, which is a shame, because the first chapter of How Not to Write a Novel is about creating a plot, a compelling storyline, which is what I’d like to do here. I want you, my avid audience, to stay tuned as an extraordinary story unfolds. ‘Self-published author hits the big time,’ the dramatic ending should read.