AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Sure.” I lead her over to the science fiction section and point out a few books. A classic her husband might like in a special edition, and a couple of recent releases.
Inexplicably, she picks one of mine off the shelf. “How about this one?”
“I…yeah. That’s good.”
She looks up at me, apparently waiting for a lengthier endorsement.
“It’s, ah…” How am I supposed to rhapsodize about my own book? You’d think after writing it I’d be able to summarize it in a sentence or two, but it’s an impossible task. “It’s pretty well-received. It has a nice character arc across the series. Funny.”
Has anyone ever been swallowed alive by their own awkwardness? Am I the first?
“I’ll go with this one.”
We return to the front counter where Owen’s waiting. I guess I was too busy tripping over my own tongue to hear him come in.
“That’s a great choice,” he says to the woman. “Kept me up at night to see what happened next.”
“Oh. Thank you for that endorsement.” Her gaze flicks to me, as if silently pointing out my terrible one.
Once she’s left, Owen levels me a dubious look. “That’s seriously the best you can do?”
“I’m not a used car salesman. I can’t just launch into a spiel about how great my book is.”
“Probably should.”
All I can do is return his glare. Yes, I probably should. Marketing is huge for writers, and I’m not skilled at any of it. I don’t have social media, I haven’t done any signing events, and I don’t even have a display of my books in my own store. All of that requires a level of social comfort I don’t have.
“Are you here for your usual?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I could keep lecturing.”
I get to work on his café mocha. He’ll probably also want a cinnamon roll with extra icing. The MMA instructor has a terrible sweet tooth.
“You can’t skimp out on marketing. That was the first thing I took over when I started at Rumble Room.”
He’s taken on a lot of their managerial responsibilities since he arrived. He could probably run his own gym at this point, but I’m not sure he wants that. He says he likes the freedom that comes withnotbeing the owner.
“I realize that. It’s just not my skillset.” I slide the paper cup across the counter to him, wordlessly accepting his cash.
“No kidding.” He looks around the store. “Where’s your book display again?”
Marketing the store is easy. We have social media accounts and a newsletter that feature staff picks, book clubs, and special events. But marketingmybooks? Marketingme? I don’t know where to begin.
“I’ll work on it.” Probably. Eventually. If I don’t, whatever momentum my books have now could dry up faster than Vance Vickers’s love for any woman he calls his wife.
“You’ve got to put yourself out there.” His dark eyes narrow on me over his sip of mocha. “In lots of ways.”
I ignore the hint. He doesn’t take his own advice—I don’t have to, either. “What are you up to today?”
“I’ve got an intro class this afternoon. Always fun to see a new crop of clients walk through the doors. Love seeing people respond to my marketing.”
“Nice dig.”
He chuckles over his drink. “First, I’m heading over to the nursery. I need something to plant in the cracks of the rock wall I installed over the weekend.”
“You finished it?”
“It’s looking pretty good. You should stop by and see it sometime.”
