I keep going in circles, coming back to the same conclusion: I need to do more marketing. I need to get out there. I need to shake babies and kiss hands. I need to campaign for hope, change, and people buying my books.

But then, there’s just something skeezy-feeling about running around promoting yourself. It feels needy and like perhaps you didn’t get enough hugs as a child.

There’s this notion that if the story is good enough, the people will come. This is not necessarily true. People read all sorts of really crappy books. And it’s not like McDonalds made such a fantastic hamburger that it’s become incredibly popular.

No, they enlisted a clown and a sockpuppet who supposedly loves their burgers so much that he tries to steal them. And Grimace, wtf is Grimace?

I think what I need is a mascot. I think it’ll be a pink anal plug that I’ll call Proddy. “Proddy says, ‘that’s some good buttsexin’!”

Or something.

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