Dear Fiction Writer:
I don’t read your blog.
Seriously, I don’t. I’m an avid reader. I read a lot of novels. I couldn’t care less about your blog. Look, I’m trying to be nice, if you love blogging, great, but it’s not going to make me buy your book. Only your book will do that. I try out new authors all the time. I read a few pages and if I like it, I buy it. Whether I’m standing in a bookstore or downloading a sample on my e-reader, it’s always the same.
I also don’t follow you on Twitter. I don’t hang out in online forums. If you create a book trailer, I probably won’t watch it, because come on, why does a book need a trailer? If you friend me on Facebook, great, I might think that’s neat, but I won’t pay attention to what you post there. Why would I? I use Facebook to socialize with friends, and let’s be honest, you’re not my friend. You probably don’t even want to be my friend, and I won’t take offense to that. How can you be friends with all the hundreds or thousands of people who read your book? You can’t. I didn’t buy your novel because I wanted to be your friend. I bought your novel because I wanted to be entertained. It was either your book or reruns of Seinfeld.
And Myspace? I don’t even remember what that is. You might want to have a website, sure, that way I can find out what else you’ve written if I’m motivated enough to type your name in Google. But I probably won’t be. I’m lazy that way. If I like your book enough, I’ll see what else you have on Amazon.com – but if there’s nothing there, I’ll move onto somebody else.
Because, again, I just want a good story.
And platform? I couldn’t care less about your platform. You could be a hermit living under a bridge for all I care. You want my advice? Work on writing better books. You write books that I’ll remember a week after I’ve read them – because, honestly, most books I don’t remember any more than I remember what I ate for dinner– and I’ll want more books from you.
But I still won’t read your blog.
Honest.
Sincerely,
A. Wreeder