Lately, everyone has been asking me about the one thing I’d prefer not to talk about: my book. This is rather unfortunate because, well, what’s going on is I’m supposed to be telling everyone about it–self-promoting, social networking, publicity planning, tweeting (not gonna happen)–all of which makes me yearn for the good old days: my alarm would go off at 4:45am, I’d mumble, “Time to make the donuts,” then I’d put on the coffee and shower, eat three bowls of cereal while trying not to scare my housemate taking his middle-of-the-night piss, procrastinate on Facebook from 5:15 – 5:30am, and finally write for a solid three-and-a-half hours before going to work. It was simple. Routine. And even though the “What if this thing fucking sucks” fear plagued me often, the beauty of a crappy writing day is it’s still a writing day–you know, part of the process. For me writing is also meditative, calming, and now I’m feeling a little ungrounded without my regular writing practice.
I just can’t get into the rhythm of my new mornings. I get up closer to 6am now. At my desk, I open spreadsheets with lists of media outlets, and I look at the news trying to think of articles to pitch. I run through my contacts searching for a friend who has a sister who writes reviews for a major newspaper. I make notes for my new web site, new Facebook page, and organize my email list so I can blast the same information through all channels of communication. I think about marketing with integrity, my great desire to share my book and connect with people, my great fear of foisting it on people. That said..