I got a report today saying that two copies of The Duke of Morrison Street sold on Amazon. It was probably my mother.
I friend to whom I gave a copy ran into me and said he enjoyed the book. My friend was positive, but wondered if it had much to offer people who werern't one of us--recovering alcoholics. I wonder the same thing. My legal assistant is almost finished, and she seems to like it. She isn't recovering from anything, but she works for me. What is she supposed to say?
The good part--at least so far-- is that everyone wants to talk about some aspect of the book: who dunnit, missed typos, whether the characters are comprehensible to non-addicts. That is great news for me, because all I wanted was for my readers to be able to finish the damn thing without getting so bored they threw the book against the wall. In that modest respect I may have succeeded, and the crowd I write for is not long on patience.
It looks like I will get some word-of-mouth marketing.
Some of my anxiety about this whole project is resolving. I am not so worried about selling books anymore. That will be a long term project. I don't have to depend upon the book to put food on my table. Foregoing the send-a-letter-to-an-agent-and-wait-to-hit-the-big-time now feels right to me. I made the decision to start Salish Ponds because I doubted I could find an agent who was able and willing to market my book to my people. Maybe there is one, but the chances of finding that person and thereafter making it big seem too small to warrant turning over the project to other people. I give up, of course, my infinitesimal chance to be rich and famous, as well of the potential ego satisfaction of having someone else publishing my art. In return I get control and a life without rejection letters.
All bargains are tough, but today I am satisfied with this one.