Several months ago, when my sister, RB, began shopping around her latest finished manuscript, we discovered something truly horrifying: Publishers now expect you to promote yourself. Listen, we are not happy about this. We want to sit in our little writerly towers and churn out works of true brilliance. Works that will thrill, and amuse, and rake in copious amounts of big bucks so we can pay the mortgages on said towers.
The true evil of the brave new world in publishing: self-promotion.
The best thing about having a sister who writes, too, is that we can do stuff like this together. We’ve holed up in my tower for the afternoon, my amazing husband is taking care of the children so we can work, we’ve got a credit card, two laptops, and an enormous supply of chocolate. We are good to go.
Plus, it’s turning out to be really fun. The best part? The moment when we realized we had to write our first blog posts, and we each turned to our own laptops. Because it turns out that when I don’t know how to write, I spin in my chair until I’m dizzy, spy on the neighbors some, and then write the first thing that comes to mind, and RB does something even crazier: she googles. What a nut.