I am a talker. Never text, because I so love to converse. Even in awkward social situations I can coax almost anyone into talking to me. So why does the looming spectre of a Live Chat fill me with such horror?
In my ongoing efforts to promote Carolina Heat, I signed up for a chat with Night Owl Romance (cue the cold sweat of terror). In the past few months I've participated in two other general chats, but they both had the safety of multiple guests. Each time, we only had a few visitors. Didn't leave a good taste in my mouth, to say the least. Rather like throwing a party where nobody shows. And yet tonight I will be the sole draw for a chatroom for an entire hour.
The actual chatting is fine. I've got a string of excerpts at the ready to whet everyone's whistle, along with some amusing anecdotes, carefully honed in written interviews. Should the questions not come fast and furious, I can easily blather on for days about the writing process, how the idea came about, my current WIP, and even plotter vs. pantser.
The issue is getting people in the virtual door. Since I'm with an e-publisher, there isn't exactly a mighty publicity machine at my back, spreading word far and wide. So deep down, the rational part of my brain accepts the possibility (and maybe inevitability) of very few visitors tonight. But the rational side of my brain cowers under the hulking juggernaut of my emotional insecurities. You know, the classic writer fears that all boil down to the chilling certainty nobody wants to read my book because it simply isn't good enough. Anybody else felt that recently?
But, I can't let fear win. Can't let it cause me to stagnate, or worse, give up. Which means I'll keep slogging through the Web like a door to door salesman hawking my book to anyone who'll listen. So in case any of you are bored tonight at 8:00 EST, feel free to drop by at