October 25, 2014
Sometimes I'm a little baffled by how excited I can still be for a new project. I mean, I have been doing this for quite awhile now. We've passed the 5, 10, 15, 20 marks. We're way into double-digits. We can count decades. And yet I stayed up late working on a new story and woke up early to pen a foreword.
The latest collection I'm producing will have one brand-new long story ("All Things to All Women") and a trio of flash-stories (each about 1500 words). The three flashers are linked and deal with the fetish of watching a girlfriend with another man—and fucking her after she's been fucked. The stories ("The Keymaster," "The Key," "The Keyhole") are making me supremely happy. I'm sort of rocking here wanting to post them now. But I need another day, another set of edits, another cup of Joe.
But if you were wondering, my power is definitely on.
Hence the picture.
And yet, this post has a double meaning. Because when I visited Sommer Marsden's blog yesterday, I saw that she'd posted two of my books in her sidebar, recommending my titles to her readers. And I thought—holy fuck (I think that a lot because I have a filthy, filthy mind), this is power. This is the power of writers helping writers try to make a splash in this nearly impossible environment.
What if we all did that? What if we promoted each other in little surprise ways like this—posting covers, pimping stories, sharing the wealth. Read a book you liked? Put up the cover and a link. Discover an author you think is fabulous—give an unexpected shout out, an unplanned review.
Yes, a lot of people already do this. I know. But for some reason, the thought hit me last night that we all could—every one of us. Fuck self-promotion. Do the opposite. We could be a flash-mob of indies. We could all rise on that tide.
That's power. And the power is on.